


may these memories break our fall

by bravestyles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Cancer, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, as in not harry or louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:35:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 110,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28243248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravestyles/pseuds/bravestyles
Summary: Harry and Louis' four-year-old son has a terminal brain tumor. In his sickness and death, they navigate the hurt and grief together.A story about mourning.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 72
Kudos: 124





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> title: long live - taylor swift
> 
> i hope you like it <3

-

Jack was only two and a half when he was first diagnosed. He was still at the age that Louis insisted on telling everyone that the twins were thirty months old instead of saying their age in years, and then, suddenly, Jack was two and a half, in hospital, and the doctors were using words like _pediatric anaplastic astrocytoma_ and _radiation_ and _surgery_ and _prognosis_. Madison was sat in Louis’ lap, clinging to him and staring down at the tablet that was playing _Doc McStuffins_ into her ears. She refused to let them talk to the doctor on their own, not when she was so sad about Jack. Jack, her twin brother, was sick and she just didn’t know what to think of that. Harry and Louis promised her over and over again in the beginning that he would be just fine. They still make those promises; not because they have any truth to them, but because she’s now four and has no idea how to conceptualize that her brother is dying. 

They make those promises to Jack, too. 

In the beginning, everything happened so quickly. One second, they took their child to the emergency room because he had a seizure in the middle of Louis’ mum’s kitchen, and the next, he was being prepped for surgery. They wanted to remove what they could of the tumor, said it was Jack’s best bet, and it was. It bought him time. But they couldn’t remove the tumor completely because of where it is in Jack’s brain, what part it’s clinging to, so they moved onto talking about radiation. 

Harry and Louis weren’t sold on radiation, not right away. Not with all the risks it has for kids, not when Jack was so little and, for now, so was the tumor. Harry asked to speak with the doctors, and she was polite enough to listen to his concerns. As Harry explained to her his worries about long-term effects of radiation on kids, Louis slowly started to go quiet next to him. It took Harry ten minutes into the conversation to realize why: the long-term effects didn’t matter because _Jack_ wasn’t long-term. He wouldn’t make it far enough to even see those possibilities. _We’ll just have to keep monitoring him_ , the doctor said when Harry accused her of lying to him and giving him false hope. But Harry heard it loud and clear, and he’s been hearing it ever since -- his baby isn’t going to be able to grow up. 

Harry blinks, hard, and sits up straighter, gets a better hold on the steering wheel. He should’ve taken Louis’ offer of driving him home, but he didn’t want to leave Jack alone at the hospital. Harry gets too far into his head sometimes; that’s why Louis sent him home tonight. They’re tired and tense and terrified, but Harry can’t sit still and wait as good as Louis. He’s far too restless, and it makes Louis anxious, so he asked him to go home for the night. Said Harry needs a proper night’s sleep, which is true. Harry has gotten about seven hours of sleep altogether since they’ve been at the hospital, and it’s been five days. 

Jack isn’t going to die tonight, that’s not how this works. Harry doesn’t have to fear leaving him at the hospital. Logically, he knows that, but that’s his _son_ , of course he doesn’t want to leave him. And deaths more sudden have occurred. Every time Harry leaves his side, he’s taking a risk of not being able to say goodbye. 

When he pulls into the driveway behind his mum’s car, he sits there for a few minutes, trying to soothe the nausea piling up inside of him. He didn’t tell his mum that he’d be coming home tonight, so she won’t expect him. He has all the time in the world to sit her and try to get a grip. 

Harry’s been given a lot in his life, but his mother’s undying love for him and his children is probably the thing he’s most thankful for. His parents are wealthy, proper wealthy, so Harry doesn’t have to work if he doesn’t want to. Neither does Louis, but he does anyway because he was raised to work hard and wasn’t as into the idea of being a stay-at-home dad as Harry always had been. And Harry -- God, he doesn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t be with Jack all the time. Louis, either; the minute something is worse than normal, Louis can take time off work without thinking about it. They can be around to care for their son all the time, and so can Anne, and they can afford to pay for Jack’s care, and still, that’s not enough. Nothing can save Jack, not money or love or good healthcare. Nothing.

Anne’s been living with them since a month after Jack’s diagnosis. In the beginning, after the surgery, it was difficult. One of them always had to be with Jack, and neither of them wanted to leave his side to go do the dishes or cook dinner or look after their daughter. Anne moved in without a second thought, and even though things have settled down as much as they could and he probably doesn’t need his mum’s help in everything, he’s glad she hasn’t moved out. But at the same time, Harry can’t deny the truth: she will only stay here until there is no longer a reason for them to be at the hospital all the time or distracted by other things. In other words, she’s only here for as long as Jack is. Harry tries not to think about it like that. 

He’s been sitting in the car for ten minutes when Louis texts, _Are you home yet?_ He must’ve been waiting for Harry to text him that he made it home safe like Harry promised he would. He grabs his phone and responds. _Yeah, just made it back. Is Jack still asleep?_

Louis’ reply is immediate. He must’ve been worried. _Yes. I’ll let you know if he wakes up. Call me before bed ok?_

_Okay,_ Harry sends, and then he gets out of the car and heads inside. 

Their house is large, something that they both justified by their plan of having a million babies and a few pets, too. Eventually -- too soon -- it’ll just be he, Louis, Madison and their dog Cooper. (And Louis would sigh and tell him not to say that, or if he’s in the wrong mood, cry and snap at him for thinking that way. Louis is so much better at taking it one day at a time than Harry is. Harry has mourned Jack over and over and over again by now.) Harry has no idea what the plan is once Jack dies. They haven’t thought that far ahead, when in reality, that time could very well be not too far ahead. 

“Madison, is that you?” his mum calls from somewhere. Harry follows her voice to the kitchen, stopping at the doorway. She’s cooking something even though it’s nine o’clock and she usually makes dinner at six -- she’s distracting herself. 

“Where’s Madison?” Harry asks. “And Cooper?”

“Oh, love, I didn’t know you were coming home today.” She comes over to him and grabs his face, smiling up at him. “Madison’s at the neighbors watching a movie. Ms. Owens promised to walk her home, don’t worry. And Cooper is outside.”

“Oh, okay. What are you making?”

“Lasagna for tomorrow. But how is Jack, baby? Is he feeling better today?”

Tears cling to his eyes and gather in his throat, and he tries to smile. “You know how he is, Mum. Doesn’t ever really complain. But he’s. . . I mean, yeah. He’s okay.”

“When can he come home?”

Harry breaths out slowly, trying not to cry. All he needs to do is change into his pajamas, shower, and go to sleep. There’s no crying needed for any of that. “I don’t know why he hasn’t come home yet. We’re supposed to talk to the doctor in two days. Which -- we all know what that means.”

She frowns at him. “We don’t know anything yet. Maybe they just want to keep an eye on him for a few days, that’s all. Or maybe the doctor was too busy.”

“They’re sitting on bad news and waiting to tell us,” Harry disagrees, gently taking his mum’s hands off his face. He squeezes her wrists. “Louis agrees with me, so don’t tell me I’m being pessimistic. It’s the only thing that makes sense. And they keep doing different tests on him. The poor kid can’t even watch _Finding Nemo_ all the way through before someone’s poking their head in and asking to grab him for a moment.”

“We’ve had bad news before and it’s turned out better than we thought,” Anne says, and she’s not wrong, she isn’t. But she also has no idea what his test results are coming out to be, or how the tumor in Jack’s head looks. None of them do. Nothing can comfort him right now, not when they’re throwing platitudes into a black hole and hoping some will stick. 

“I’m just going to go to bed so I can wake up and see my kid, okay?” Harry says, trying to smile for her. He kisses her cheek and squeezes her wrists again before leaving the kitchen and heading to their bedroom. He changes into more comfortable clothes before heading to Jack’s room and getting into his bed. It’s small, obviously, but Harry doesn’t care, not when it smells like his son and he has one of Jack’s toys to cuddle with.

Harry’s half-asleep and stroking the fur of Jack’s plush polar bear when the door swings open and Madison comes racing in. She jumps onto the bed and launches herself at Harry, and Harry wraps his arms around her and kisses her head. He wants to be left alone right now, but Madison hasn’t seen him in five bloody days and he misses her, too. 

“Is Jax coming home?” she asks, giving him these wide eyes as she pulls on the collar of his shirt. Harry reaches up to smooth a hand over her straight dark hair -- the opposite of Jack’s short, curly, dirty blonde hair. Harry feels a sudden wave of nausea and he drops his hand. 

“Soon, baby. Dad’s with him at the hospital for now.”

“Can I come, too?”

Harry bites down on his lip, hard. Will Madison even remember Jack when she’s older? It’ll depend, probably, on how long Jack can hang on for. Being robbed of growing up with your twin is brutal, and it puts a pit in his stomach. This is why Louis sent him home. 

“I’ll talk to Dad about it, okay?”

Madison pouts, and Harry can’t take that right now, not when he spent the whole day at the hospital with Jack who cried into his chest over a headache that wouldn’t let him be. 

They’re twins, it’s hard not to compare them. And one of his children is perfectly healthy and the other is in the hospital because he has fucking _brain_ cancer. That doesn’t seem fair; Madison and Jack both deserve a long, healthy life. They deserve to grow up together, and they just _won’t_. Madison will grow and grow and grow, and Jack will deteriorate until he’s gone. Harry feels -- _anger_ towards her, for some reason, even though he knows it's misplaced. He’s angry at what they’re losing, and it hurts to look at her and then at Jack. Jack is paler and thinner and not as energetic all the time, and Madison is running around and going to the neighbor’s for a playdate and full of energy. Harry loves them both equally, but he needs to spend as much time pouring all of his love into Jack while he still has the opportunity. 

“Why don’t you go see what Grandma is doing, hmm?”

She sits back on her heels, looking sad. Like she knows Harry’s just trying to get rid of her. “She’s watching TV.”

“Oh. Well it’s late, yeah? You should be in bed by now.” He realizes it as he says it, but he figures that Anne not being strict on Madison’s bedtime is fair considering her brother is in the hospital. Again. 

“Can I lay here with you?”

Harry swallows thickly and takes a deep breath. “No, love. You have your own room. But I’ll come lay with you in a little bit, okay? I just have to talk to Dad first.”

“Okay,” she agrees, immediately perking up. She goes to climb off the bed, but Harry’s heart lurches in his chest like it's trying to go after her. 

“Wait,” he says. “Give Daddy a kiss.” 

Madison does, grinning all the while, and Harry barely manages to keep the tears back as she goes. She shuts the door because she likes to show them that she’s tall enough to now, even if she has to stand on her toes, so Harry is at least offered privacy as he cries. He clings to Jack’s plush and buries his face into his space-themed pillowcase. Every bit of Harry is begging him to drive back up to the hospital, but he knows that will upset Louis so he forces himself to stay put. 

Harry’s wiping his snot on the sleeve when his phone lights up from a call with Louis, and Harry sits up quickly, answering it in a heartbeat, automatically thinking the worst. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, breathless. 

“What? Nothing. He’s still asleep. I’m just heading to the cafeteria and wanted to call you.”

“Oh,” he says, sinking back down into Jack’s bed. “Oh, good. Okay.”

There’s a small stretch of silence, and Harry _knows_ Louis is debating whether or not to lecture him right now about always assuming the worst. Thankfully, he decides against it. “How’s Mads?”

“Good, I think. She wants to come with me to the hospital tomorrow.”

“Yeah, she can. I’d like to see her anyway.”

Harry frowns. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea, Lou. She’ll be moving a million times faster than Jack can. He won’t be able to keep up with her and I don’t want him getting upset.”

“Harry,” Louis says patiently. “Jack is fine. For right now, he is okay. He can keep up with her.”

“He needs to rest.”

“He needs to see his sister,” Louis disagrees. 

Harry closes his eyes and presses a hand against his forehead. Louis’ right, and Harry knows the only reason why he doesn’t want Madison at the hospital is because she’ll be another moving part that he has to keep track of and stress over and he doesn’t need any more of that. That’s selfish. Keeping them apart is wrong. 

“I’ll take her, sure. My mum can pick her up tomorrow night, then.”

“That sounds nice, love.” There’s some noise on his end of the line, and then a soft sigh. “I’m already sick of eating these sandwiches, I’ll tell you. Did your mum cook for you?”

“Yeah.” It’s not technically a lie. 

“Good. Do you think you’ll be able to sleep well tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admits. He’s exhausted as all hell, but his mind won’t stop running. “I promised Mads I’d sleep in her bed, so probably not, no.”

“Take her to our bed, it’s not any different.”

Harry nods. “Okay, yeah.”

“Look, I’ll let you go, alright? Go get some sleep, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine, Louis.”

“Go to sleep. I love you.”

Tears prick his eyes again. “I love you, too. And if Jack wakes, tell him I love him, okay? And that I’ll bring his polar bear to the hospital tomorrow.”

“Yeah, H. I will. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Harry croaks, and he hangs up the phone before Louis can worry anymore. He lays in bed for a few more minutes, trying to soak into the comfort being around his son’s things brings him, before getting up and heading to Madison’s room. He never showered, but he’ll do that in the morning. 

Anne is reading Madison a story when Harry opens her door, and he smiles sadly at them. “Hey,” he says. “I’m heading to bed. Mads, love, come to my room when you’re ready for bed, okay?”

She nods sweetly, and Harry shuts the door again. He walks to his and Louis’ room and drags himself to bed, under the covers. He’s at home, in his big, nice, cozy bed while his son and husband are at the hospital. That’s not right, but he pushes that thought out of his head as he cuddles into Louis’ pillow and tucks the little polar bear he took from Jack’s room close to his chest. He’s sleep-deprived enough to convince himself that they’re right there with him. 

-

At five minutes past six in the morning, he jolts up in bed, blindly reaching for his phone like it’s his lifeline. He’s barely awake as he fumbles in the dark, trying to click the right buttons. One new message from Louis -- if Jack was dead, there would be a lot more than that. He sags back in bed and takes a few steadying breaths. He feels hot all over and like he might be sick, a little bit, but after a few minutes, the nausea starts to go away. 

Madison is still with him, stretched out in bed, completely oblivious to Harry’s hurried movements. He stares down at her and resists the urge to touch her; he should let her sleep. Carefully, he grabs his phone and heads to the bathroom. He’s still not fully awake yet, but after he goes to the bathroom and splashes some cold water on his face, he’s mostly awake. 

He checks Louis’ message as he walks quietly down the stairs. _I think we should think about taking them on a trip somewhere,_ the text reads. _Disney land or something. Before they go to school?_ Harry doesn’t question why Louis texted him that at four in the morning, he just sends back an okay. He’s just walked into the kitchen and turned on the light when Louis calls him. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Louis says, sounding tired himself. “It’s only six, love. Go back to bed.”

“I don’t want to. I’ll probably come back up to the hospital in an hour or so.”

“Babe. He’s still sound asleep.”

Harry leans against the kitchen counter, closing his eyes. “Maybe I just want to see you, ever think about that?”

“Yeah, right,” Louis says, letting out a quiet laugh. It goes quiet, so Harry pushes away from the counter and heads to the fridge. There’s a plate in the fridge marked with a sticky note that reads Harry’s name, and he takes it out. It’s fruit and cheese and a few slices of ham -- food that will be gentle on his stomach. He sits at the kitchen table, and Louis starts talking again. 

“We both agree something bad is just around the corner,” he says quietly. “We talk to the doctor tomorrow; I want you to be as strong as possible for that. To get through the days after that, too.”

“How much sleep did you get last night, hmm?”

Louis sighs. “Okay, fair. I’ll let it alone. Just -- I love you, yeah?”

“I love you, too. Never going to stop.”

Harry honestly has no idea how their marriage will be impacted by Jack’s death. In his sickness, they’ve gotten closer, but having a sick kid is a lot different than having a dead one. He’s not planning on divorcing Louis, or anything. He loves Louis, and he really doesn’t think he could live without him. Louis’ right: Harry’s too pessimistic.

“What made you want to take our kids to Disneyland at four in the morning?” Harry asks before eating a piece of cheese. He wonders where Louis is right now; he wouldn’t be talking to him in Jack’s room. Maybe he’s outside, or in his car. 

“Mickey Mouse was playing on the TV this morning. I don’t know. It would be fun, though.”

“Yeah, I agree. But, like. Can Jack even handle rides right now? He might get too nauseous.”

“Probably not on the ones meant for kids their age. I’ve never been, so I don’t know what it’s like. I’m just thinking.”

“It would be fun, yeah.”

Louis hums in agreement. “Make sure you eat before you come back to the hospital. And that Mads does, too.”

“Can we wait to see how Jack is doing before we let Maddie come? If he’s feeling poorly today -- ” he cuts himself off, surprised that Louis hadn’t first. 

“Sure,” Louis relents. “You’re clearly worried about it, which I don’t really understand. He was talking just yesterday about how he misses her.”

It’d be too selfish to say that Harry wants to keep their bubble small, to say that he likes how Jack’s attention is solely on them, out loud, so he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “I don’t know. You’re right. I’ll just bring her when I come, and if Jack’s not up for it, my mum can come get her.”

“Yeah, okay.”

There’s noise in the doorway, and Harry glances over to see Cooper stretching out on the tile. He wags his tail and comes over to Harry, setting his head on Harry’s thigh. Harry pets him and kisses the top of his head. His heart aches, a bit, realizing that Cooper is probably wondering where Jack is. He’s a black and white border collie, and he loves Jack more than anything else on this planet. Dogs are intuitive, they know when someone’s sick, so it’s not exactly surprising. 

Tears crash over him suddenly, and he fucking hates this, how sudden the agony washes over him. Something completely normal can be enough to tip him off and fall into a puddle of tears, and here he is, crying over the bloody dog with his husband on the phone. He hunches over and pets Cooper more firmly, trying to calm himself down. It’s impossible to, and a small sniffle escapes him. Immediately, Louis makes an unhappy noise. 

“Hey. He’s okay. You saw him, like, ten hours ago. Completely fine.”

“He had a _seizure_ , Louis,” Harry cries quietly. 

(It was awful just like it always is. It’s only happened a few times, and it still hasn’t stopped being terrifying. This one wasn’t as bad as they can get, but it wasn’t a small one, either.)

“But he is fine for right now. Come on, lovely, don’t work yourself up. You’re breaking my heart.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, wiping his tears. “I’m sorry. Cooper just made me sad, I don’t know.” He keeps wiping the new tears that come, taking deep breaths, and swallowing through the heat in his throat. Louis shouldn’t have to deal with this right now. 

“We got Cooper to keep everyone happier,” Louis says, laughing. “What, do I need to buy you another?”

A broken laugh pushes through him. “Maybe. A big one, though.”

“Noted, babe.”

Cooper lifts his head and looks behind him before Harry hears his mum. She enters the kitchen, smiles warmly at them, pets Cooper, and kisses the top of his head. 

“Hey, my mum just woke up,” Harry tells Louis, ignoring how Anne tells him not to let him go on her account. “I’ll text you when I’m about to leave, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Love you.”

“And text me about Jack, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Alright. Love you, too.”

Louis’ the one to hang up, and once Harry’s off the phone, he stands and hugs Anne. She hugs him back tightly, even though she looks a little surprised. He envies her, a bit. She managed to raise two kids just fine, didn’t lose either of them to anything. Harry’s only had his kids for four years and it’s already falling apart. But he pushes that down and hides his face against her shoulder, trying to feel small and safe and looked after. She’s good at making him feel like their world isn’t falling apart. 

“I love you, baby,” she whispers, rubbing his back. “And I’ll be here for you and Louis, no matter what, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Here, come sit. We can talk, and you can eat the rest of your food.” She grabs the plate and his wrist, leading them to the living room. Cooper follows, and the three of them get settled on the couch. Anne’s got Cooper so well-trained that he doesn’t even pay Harry’s food any attention. 

“Louis can handle a day at the hospital alone, you know,” Anne tells him, and Harry shakes his head almost immediately. 

“I don’t want him to be alone. And I want to spend time with Jack, anyway.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” She squeezes his knee. “Maddie misses you two. She’s getting temperamental the longer you’re away.”

Harry sighs quietly. “I’m taking her with me to the hospital. Hopefully that will smooth it over.” He drops his head to her shoulder, soaking in the comfort. “You can come, too, if you want. You can come whenever you want.”

“I’ll come with you tomorrow, okay? So I can watch Jack while you and Louis talk to the doctor.”

Harry’s stomach rolls at that, and he shuts his eyes. He doesn’t even want to think about that. There are so many things she could tell them, and none of them are good. “Yeah,” he says barely above a whisper. “Yeah, okay.”

“It’s going to be okay, you know.”

“I don’t know. You don’t, either. They won’t show us any of his bloody test results, so how could any of us know what is going on?”

“We can always hope,” she says, moving to wrap an arm around his shoulders. He leans into her more. “Nothing was ever hurt with hope.”

“Nothing was ever helped, either.”

“Harry,” she says, sad. 

Harry shrugs. “I have been hoping that we’d get to raise happy, healthy kids for years, and look where we are now.”

“Jack has held on longer than the doctors thought he would have been able to,” Anne reminds. “And he is happy. Very happy. The happiest little boy I’ve ever seen.”

Hot tears swoop right back up to his eyes, so he closes them. “I’m not going to even have the time to get to know him, Mum. He’s four, he’s not -- he won’t be able to grow into himself before he goes. I -- God, what will he be when he grows up? What -- what music would he like? What sport would Louis convince himself to go into? I’ll never get to fucking know, I’ll never get to know, Mum, and that’s -- I just want to know.” He sits up, covering his face with his hand. Anne sighs quietly and takes the plate from him, setting it on the table in front of them, before rubbing her hand down Harry’s back. 

“Well,” she says patiently. “He’s very creative. He likes to paint and draw and color. Maybe he’d be an artist. Or -- he likes to talk. A lot.” A ragged laugh rips itself from Harry’s throat. “Maybe he’d be a TV show host. Or a news reporter. As for the music he’ll like. . . I don’t know. He sure likes those _Lion King_ songs. Maybe that’ll stick. And Louis will force him into football, obviously. You didn’t have a boy for nothing.” She kisses his shoulder. “Please don’t act like he’s already gone. He’s just twenty minutes away at the hospital with Louis, probably dreaming of you. He could have a few more years, Harry, maybe even more, we don’t know yet.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment before he asks, “Do you think me and Louis could handle losing him?”

“God, love, what did I _just_ say?” She scoots closer, rubs his back a bit more intently. “You can’t think like this, not right now.”

“I know,” he says miserably, wiping a hand over his face. He lets out a long sigh. “I just. . . I can’t ever turn my brain off. And Madison shouldn’t have to handle losing her brother and her parents divorcing, too.” He shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m supposed to just not think about it, I know.”

Anne moves her hand up to run her fingers through Harry’s hair, and it feels so nice Harry thinks he could fall asleep again if he were to lay down with his head in her lap. And it sounds so good that that’s what he does, and she smiles down at him. 

“You know,” she says after a little while. “The only thing you and Louis do better than taking care of each other is parenting. The love you have for each other -- it might one day take different forms, but it’ll always be there. You’ll always have him.”

“Good,” he whispers, closing his eyes. It feels like one of those baseless promises that they feed the kids, but Harry finds comfort in it anyway. 

-

Harry walks back into the hospital at 7:17 in the morning with a half-asleep child in his arms and that stuffed polar bear he slept with the night before clutched tightly in his hands. He makes his way to the room, and his heart nearly stops when he sees that the door is open and a back of a nurse. It’s not uncommon, nurses checking in, so he doesn’t know why it makes him panic so much. His fears are immediately soothed when he steps in the room to see Louis in bed with Jack, who’s awake in Louis’ lap, though he looks sleepy. He perks up when he sees Harry and Madison, and Madison squirms in his arms, so he sets her on the bed. She immediately makes her way up the bad, slotting herself onto the other side of Louis, right next to Jack. They grin at each other, and it’s like a punch to the gut. 

“Thought you were going to tell me when he woke up,” Harry whispers, side-stepping the nurse to kiss the top of Louis’ head. He reaches over them to stroke his thumb over Jack’s cheek, and Jack reaches up to grab it, a toothy smile beaming up at him. 

“I’ll leave you lot alone now,” the nurse says kindly, waving goodbye to Jack. He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy staring up at Harry. His attention falls to the polar bear in Harry’s hand and Harry hands it to him. 

“It’s Pezzy,” Jack says faintly, petting the bear’s fur. Madison takes the stuffed rabbit off the side table, and Harry recognizes that Louis is talking to him but he can’t look away from how content Jack looks right now, halfway in his dad’s lap with his sister smooshing his rabbit’s face into the polar bear’s. 

“Hey,” Louis says, touching his arm, and Harry forces himself to look away from the kids to look at Louis. 

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“He woke up, like, ten minutes after you got off the phone,” Louis explains. “He threw up, but he says he feels fine now.”

Worry gnaws on Harry’s heart, just like it does every second of every day. He looks back at Jack, who’s looking up at him with wide eyes. “You feel fine now, hmm?” Harry asks, running his hand over Jack’s head. He’s been off radiation for a little while now, so his hair is beginning to grow back. It’s short, still, the hairs just barely managing to curl. 

“Yep,” Jack chirps. “All the sickies are gone now.”

That forces Harry down to the bed, having to sit. It’s devastating, the way Jack just doesn’t understand any of this. He hasn’t got a clue about anything, not really. “That’s good, baby,” Harry whispers, and Louis grabs his hand, giving him a soft look. Harry doesn’t know what it means, and he doesn’t try to decipher it, not when his heart is racing from how fucking sad he is. 

“Jack, bud, scoot over,” Louis says. Jack does, and Louis does, too, taking Madison with him, and Harry squeezes into the empty space as soon as it’s been made for him. He leans into Louis’ side, fitting into the curve of him. He rubs Louis’ shoulder and presses a kiss there. Jack and Madison are making the rabbit and polar bear fight, for some reason, when Louis turns to him. 

“You’ve got to try and not look so bloody heartbroken, baby,” Louis whispers, lips right over his ear so the kids don’t hear. Harry immediately schools his face, because Louis’ right. The kids are so much better off when Louis and Harry pretend like everything’s fine. He doesn’t mean to do anything that would prevent that. 

Louis nods at him before momentarily leaning his head against Harry’s. “Alright, babes,” Louis says to the kids. “Dad’s really tired, and I think he’d like it very much if you went to sleep with him.”

“But I just got here,” Madison whines, and Louis taps her nose. 

“And you’ll be here when you wake up. Come on, look, Dad’s already half-asleep.”

Jack giggles, and he’s the first to listen. He gets under the blankets and snuggles into the other side of Louis, hugging the bear to his chest, and Madison sighs, following suit. She stays turned towards Jack, so Harry sets a hand on her side, stroking his fingers along her waist gently. They all shouldn’t fit in this bed, but they do. 

Jack is the first to fall asleep, Madison only a few minutes behind him. And like Harry’s body was waiting for a sign that it could take as permission, his face grows hot and tears pull themselves down his cheeks. He hides his face against Louis’ shoulder, but he knows anyway. 

“I know, love,” Louis whispers as he pulls out his arm from underneath Harry so he can wrap it around him properly. Harry sinks further into him, trying not to let his cries gain noise. “One day at a time, okay?”

“I know,” Harry whispers miserably. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m just as scared and as sad as you are, okay? Don’t apologize for it, just try to feel other things, too.”

Harry sniffles quietly. “He’s such a good kid, Lou.”

“The best,” Louis agrees. “Now, try to get some more sleep.”

“You have to, too.”

Louis squeezes his arm. “I will, babe. We both will.”

-

In the afternoon, they decide to take the kids out for a little walk. They might as well; Jack feels good and likes the outdoors, especially when he’s been in the hospital for a few days. Louis and Harry want to have a nice day, knowing damn well tomorrow isn’t going to be a good one at all. 

They walk a step or two behind the kids, keeping a careful eye on them. They’re just walking around the premise of the hospital so there aren’t many cars, so Harry’s not too worried about it, but still. 

“The nurse said Dr. Pratt will meet with us at eight tomorrow morning,” Louis tells him, voice low. He’s rubbing his thumb over Harry’s, their hands intertwined between them. 

“Okay. Mum said she’ll come up tomorrow so she can watch the kids while we talk to her.”

Louis nods. “Think she can come pick up Maddie tonight? She won’t sleep here, I know she won’t, and I don’t want her keeping Jack awake.”

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll text her when we get back inside.”

They both stare at Jack. He’s pointing ahead at a bird on the fence-line, showing it to his sister with a grin on his face. He’s always so happy. Such a good boy, he is. He always will be, no matter how short of a time that may be. 

“We both know what’s probably coming tomorrow, right?” Louis asks, still keeping his voice low. Feeling a little breathless, Harry drops his gaze to the ground, to the kids’ shuffling feet. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, choked. 

“He did well in surgery the first time,” Louis says. “The doctors, you know, they’ll be in and out, it’ll be fine. Routine. And then we can start panicking after they tell how much of it they couldn’t get out this time, okay? But not a minute before.” He sounds like he’s trying to calm himself down about this just as much as he’s trying to soothe Harry. 

“Yeah,” Harry repeats, just as strained. He’s about to say something else when Jack stops, turns around, and makes grabby hands towards them both. 

“What, bub?” Louis asks. Instead of answering, Jack comes between them, pulling at their hands. They let go of each other easily, each grabbing one of Jack’s hands. And, before Madison can pout, Louis wiggles his hand out in front of him, extending it to her. She takes it happily. As Jack hums between them, bouncing a bit on every step, Harry wonders if he picked up on their tension and this is his way of soothing them both. 

-

At three in the morning, Harry and Louis are sitting in Harry’s car, the heat blasting on their faces in an attempt to ignore the October’s chill. Neither of them could even think about sleeping, that’s why they’re here. It was Louis’ idea to go out to the car -- and after a confused look from Harry, he hit Harry on the arm and said he wasn’t trying to hook up with him in the backseat. They told the nurse at the front desk that they’d be back in a little while, and she said she’d call them if anything changes with Jack. 

It’s been twenty minutes since they’ve sat down, and neither of them have said a word. Nothing feels appropriate right now. 

“It could be nothing,” Harry mumbles after another five minutes pass. It’s pointless and untrue, so he’s not sure why it’s what he chooses to say. 

Louis shakes his head. He’s staring out the front window, sitting in the driver’s seat even though this is Harry’s car. “We’d be home by now if it was nothing. It’s definitely something.” He sighs and shifts to get more comfortable, pulling one of his legs onto the seat and leaning against the door more. “Maddie asked me if Jack was sick again before Mum picked her up. You were in the bathroom with Jack. Do you think. . . I mean, we couldn’t have just told her that Jack was dying, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Right, I know,” Louis says. “I just feel so fucking guilty sometimes.”

Harry leans over so he can set his hand on Louis’ thigh, and Louis instantly sets his hand on top of his. “I know, me too, but we’re doing everything we can.”

“I’m just really fucking happy that I’m doing this with you,” Louis says, and fucking hell, he’s crying. Harry scoots over in the seat more, desperate to fill the space between them. He fumbles for Louis’ other hand and nearly crushes it with how hard he squeezes. 

“I love you,” he says, because he’s not sure what else to say. “I love you so much, Louis.”

“I love you, too,” Louis cries out. He shakes his head, and his shoulders shake. “I couldn’t do this with anybody else. Nobody, I swear it. And your mum, God, there’s just,” he lets out a sharp cry. “If we have to do this, I’m so glad I have you to do it with.”

“Same, babe,” Harry whispers. He takes his hand off Louis’ thigh and slides it over the back of Louis’ neck, rubbing his thumb in circles on the skin there. “I’ll always be here, always.”

“You promise?”

“Of course,” Harry says easily. “I’m not going anywhere, same as you. We’re in this together.”

Louis sniffles and wipes his cheek on his shoulder. “Good,” he croaks out. “I promise, too.”

Harry leans over the console to set his chin on Louis’ shoulder. He keeps squeezing his hand and rubbing his neck, and Louis leans his head against Harry’s. After about a minute, Louis lets out a wet laugh. 

“I can’t believe you thought I asked you out here so we have sex.”

Harry rolls his eyes, mumbling, “That’s why I was _confused_ , alright. I thought you’d finally gone crazy on me.”

Louis lets out a shaky breath, and Harry kisses his cheek. He tries to ignore it, but there’s a voice in the back of his head asking, _If today was a good day and it still ended in you both crying, how will you get through the bad ones? How will you get through tomorrow?_

-

It’s fifteen minutes past eight the following morning when Dr. Pratt finally walks into her office, letting out a loud sigh and apologizing for the wait. She says something about paperwork as she sits down at her desk across from them, and Harry tries not to be impatient. Yes, this is his son’s life they’re about to discuss, but she sees countless patients and it’s okay if she’s a little late. He tries really, really hard to believe that, but when it takes her nearly five minutes to find Jack’s folder, it gets harder to be sympathetic. He would’ve snapped if it wasn’t for Louis’ hand crushing his under the table. 

“Right,” Dr. Pratt says, opening the folder. She at least seems familiar with the paperwork. “It seems like Jack has had some tests down recently, right?”

“Loads,” Louis tells her. “And nobody would tell us how things looked until we talked to you.”

She nods slowly before looking up. Eye contact like this is never good, Harry’s come to learn. “I think the last time you were here, a few months ago, we discussed the idea of a possible second surgery. Is that correct?”

Harry and Louis nod.

“It seems like that’s what we’re going to discuss again today. Jack’s tumor has grown more than we expected it to since the last time you were here.”

“Then why did we stop the radiation?” Harry asks sharply. “You said that it was growing at a slow rate.”

“It was,” she says, a little unhelpful. “And we all agreed to stop radiation because it wasn’t in Jack’s best interest.”

Because it has been about a year now that the conversation shifted from what they could do to make him better to what they can do to maintain his quality of life before he goes, and pumping him full of radiation was not what kept their son happy.

“And if we want to hold off on the surgery. . .?” Louis asks quietly; the look on his face and the tone of his voice shows that he knows it’s pointless to ask, but he had to ask anyway. Harry watches Dr. Pratt’s face turn cold, like she’s keeping herself in check. He wonders how many parents she’s had to tell that their child was dying. Surely, they aren’t the only ones, no matter how much it seems like they are sometimes. 

She doesn’t answer the question directly. “It’s what I would strongly recommend.”

“When?” Harry asks, and she looks back down at the paperwork. 

“We were hoping to get him into surgery sometime next week. Wednesday morning or Thursday evening; it’s up to you.”

The decision seems huge, like one means death and the other means life. Harry shoots a desperate look to Louis, begging him to choose (and not be wrong), and Louis calmly looks at the doctor. 

“What time Wednesday morning?”

“Ten.”

Good, that’s good. Not too early so Jack won’t be the surgeon’s first patient, but not too late so they’’ll be tired. Realistically, Harry knows that isn’t necessarily logical, but Louis is somehow on the same wavelength as him. 

“Wednesday, then,” Louis says, nodding. 

And then, a beat behind, “Yeah, Wednesday, please.”

“But you could have told us that days ago,” Louis tells her, irritated. Harry takes his other hand and runs his fingers over the inside of Louis’ wrist, not to calm him down -- he has a right to be annoyed -- but to show his support. “Our son has been in the hospital for days now, and the only reason why is because you took so long to come and tell us this. We could’ve taken him home the morning after he had the seizure.”

Dr. Pratt purses her lips. “I understand the frustration. You can take Jack home today, after he’s been medically cleared to go.”

“He’ll be fine?” Harry asks anxiously. 

“There will be no higher risk of complications at home then there are here,” she says, once again avoiding the question entirely. “Now, do either of you have any questions?”

Louis looks even more annoyed now. “Yeah, I’d like to know the results of every test you lot have put him through these last few days. He’s four, you know, and he doesn’t particularly like being poked with needles and shoved into MRI’s. And of course that was necessary, but I would like to at least know what came of it.”

“Of course. I can have one of the nurses print off his reports.”

“I’m an event planner,” Louis snaps. “Harry has a degree in business. We aren’t going to know anything about anything in his reports. Can you please take ten minutes to go over it with us?” 

“Of course,” she says, and Harry swears she holds back a sigh as she flips through his paperwork. 

Harry leans back in the chair and concentrates on listening. When he starts getting lost, Louis is one step ahead of him and asks her to clarify something or slow down. This is their son they’re talking, his fucking brain; she can take the time to explain it to them. 

Afterwards, when they’re walking hand-in-hand to the cafeteria, Harry doesn’t feel like he understands it any better, but he feels settled in knowing the small bits she did tell them. Louis pours them each a coffee and then they sit at a table. Harry lets out a heavy breath. 

“Six days, then.”

Louis nods as he fiddles with the edge of the lid. “Yeah. At least we can bring him home for a bit.”

“Yeah.”

They’re both too far in their own heads right now, trying to process everything, which is incredibly difficult to do when Harry’s mind immediately blanks when he uses _Jack_ and _surgery_ in the same sentence. 

“We’ve done it before,” Louis says. “ _He’s_ done it before. And the surgeons -- they do it every day. It’ll be fine.” Louis laughs hollowly and sets his hand on his forehead, closing his eyes. “God, I feel lightheaded.”

Harry gets up from the seat across Louis to sit next to him instead. He wraps a steadying arm around Louis’ middle, holding him close. “We’ll eat something before we go see him then, okay?” He presses a long kiss to Louis’ temple, and Louis slumps into his side. 

“You’re not good at pretending like everything’s okay.”

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, leaning his head on top of Louis’. There’s no point in trying to do that, anyway. Nothing is okay, and nothing will be okay until they’re sitting at their son’s bedside after a very successful surgery next Wednesday. 

He feels a little dizzy, too. 

“Do you think he’ll be upset?” Harry asks in a low voice, knowing full well that the answer will be yes. What kid wouldn’t be absolutely terrified by surgery? What grown _adult_ wouldn’t be? Harry and Louis will have to explain it to him somehow that won’t freak him out too much. 

“We’ve done this before,” Louis repeats, taking a deep breath. “It’s fine. It’s,” weaker, “It’s what we have to do.”

On a regular basis, they feel utterly powerless and defeated, and this -- the inability to have a say in what happens to your son -- just adds to that. It’s impossible not to be sad, but feeling sad seems foolish when they can’t do anything to fix it. 

-

Jack is delighted to be able to come home again. During the entire car ride, he’s talking about Cooper and playing with Madison and seeing the neighbor’s children and whatever else he babbles about, it’s hard to keep track of while Harry’s driving. Harry is bringing Jack home in his car, Louis has Madison, and Anne is driving alone. 

Harry barely has the car in park before Jack is getting out of his car seat buckles, popping the child safety lock off, and hopping out of the car. He curses quietly, getting out of the car quickly after him. Jack runs straight for the front door, but still. Madison doesn’t do that; she just pouts and whines and kicks until Harry or Louis come undo the buckle for her. 

“Jack, bud, don’t do that,” Harry says halfheartedly, but he isn’t mad and even if he was, he wouldn’t have been able to stay mad with how Jack looks up at him, the pom-pom on the top of his hat moving quickly, and raises his arms to be picked up like its an apology. Harry does, and while he’s getting Jack settled on his hip and finding the right key, Louis pulls behind him in the driveway. Harry distractedly watches him and Madison get out of the car when Jack plants a wet, hard kiss on Harry’s cheek, making him laugh loudly and look at him in surprise. He drags his finger down Jack’s nose, poking the end of it softly, and Jack giggles loudly. 

“I love you, baby,” he whispers as he pokes Jack’s dimple, eliciting another giggle. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, Daddy,” Jack says, and then he looks over Harry’s head. Louis is behind him now, Madison on his own hip, and he gives him a funny look. 

“Forget how to open a door, Styles?”

Both of the kids laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and Harry feels equal parts relieved and awful as he opens the door. Cooper comes running up to them, and Harry sets a squirming Jack down on his feet so he can pet Cooper, who immediately attacks him with kisses, his tail wagging. Louis sets Madison down, too, but she goes running in the direction of the stairs for whatever reason. There’s a grin on her face, so it’s probably nothing good. 

“No running up the stairs!” Louis shouts, and there’s no response but they hear her successfully run up the stairs and to her room, so they know she’s fine. Louis sighs behind him and hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder, watching Jack play with Cooper.

“Was my mum right behind you?” he asks, watching Jack try to play tug-of-war with Cooper. Cooper isn’t using all his strength as if he can sense Jack is in need of a victory. 

Louis kisses the side of his neck as he side-steps him and heads to the kitchen. “Your mum said she was stopping at your sister’s on the way back.” 

He follows Louis, running a hand over Jack’s head as he goes. Cooper follows them, anyway, so Jack comes with them, too. 

“She didn’t tell me that,” Harry says, opening the fridge. There is still some lasagna leftover, so Harry pulls that out to reheat for Jack. 

Louis’ digging in the cabinets for some tea. “Yeah, she did, babe. Right before we left.” He sighs, turning to Harry. “Did your mum suddenly take a liking to my tea and drink it all or what?”

Just like Harry forgets things when he’s stressed, his mum rearranges things. Harry has lived with her for enough of his life to know that. He sets the lasagna tray on the counter and opens the cabinets above the stove, and sure enough, she’s put it next to the spices, for whatever reason. He hands it to Louis, and Louis thanks him. 

“Daddy, can I have some of that?” Jack asks, standing next to him and standing on his tip-toes to try and see what Harry’s making. Harry smiles down at him, his heart aching. He hates it so much; he can’t forget about the bad stuff even for a moment. 

“Who do you think I’m getting it for, babe?”

Jack grins up at him, and just as Harry’s about to ask Louis to see if Madison wants some, too, she comes racing down the stairs and into the kitchen with a coloring book and her pack of markers. 

“Do not run on the stairs,” Louis says sternly, turning around to look at her. “You could hurt yourself.”

“Oopsies,” Madison says as she climbs up into the chair. They have a proper dining room -- a gorgeous one, too -- but somehow, they always end up eating at the kitchen table instead. Jack moves from Harry’s side to sit next to her, clearly interested, and Louis shoots Harry a frustrated look. They don’t need another kid getting hurt. And Louis absolutely resented the idea of putting the kids’ bedrooms upstairs, but Harry said he felt more comfortable having their rooms next to his and Louis’. There are only two bedrooms downstairs, and they didn’t see the point in making the kids share when there are five bedrooms, so Louis agreed. And now they have to deal with Madison and Jack racing up and down them all the time. 

“Make your tea, love,” Harry says quietly. Louis sighs and turns back around before grabbing the box and joining Harry by the stove.

“Do you want some?”

“No, thanks,” Harry says, just as Madison says she does. Harry tells her that she’s going to eat, and she pouts a bit before getting distracted by Jack ripping a page out of her coloring book. Thank God for four-year-old’s short attention span. 

Once the food is reheated and Louis’ tea is done, Louis and Harry join the kids at the table. Madison eats on her own completely fine, rarely making any messes, but Jack -- well. They spoil him. They coddle him. Not that they’re harsher on Madison, because they aren’t, it’s just. . . It’s different, and somehow that difference almost always leads to Jack giggling at the mess he accidentally made on his shirt. 

Harry reaches for Jack a fraction of a second later than Louis does, so he puts his arm back down as Louis scoops Jack up and settles him into his lap. “No messes, mister, you hear me?” Louis whispers to him, and Jack nods determinedly. Harry watches them for a few seconds, grossly jealous, before he gets his revenge by stealing Louis’ tea and drinking half of it. 

“You’re such a shithead,” Louis says, sighing, stealing it back. “I would have made you some.”

“I didn’t want any.”

Louis sticks his tongue at him. 

Madison is managing to color and eat at the same time, and Harry scoots closer to her now that Jack is occupied. She is not the second choice, not at all, but Harry is long past feeling guilty for scrambling to get time with Jack. She will have all of their attention eventually. 

The idea leaves a chill in his chest. He never wanted to raise an only child. Of course, Jack’s death won’t erase him, of course not, but Madison is four, and she won’t be too much older when Jack inevitably dies. She will be all by herself, and Harry never wanted that. Having only one kid seems selfish in some ways, and it undermines his entire life plan, basically. He wanted to stay home and raise kids -- so many kids. Four or five, Harry and Louis always said, but as soon as Jack was diagnosed, the conversation paused. Or maybe it ended all together, Harry isn’t sure. 

Two weeks after Jack’s diagnosis, Harry and Louis were due to meet their next potential child. They wouldn’t give her name, but they knew she was thirteen months old, newly in the system, and that she lived in Lancashire. Harry was the one to call the adoption agency to tell them that they weren’t going through with it anymore. 

“What are you coloring?” Harry asks Madison softly, and he tries desperately not to imagine another child sitting next to her, a young girl, just under their age. It’s not like Jack’s condition would hurt any less if they had another kid to look after. . . or maybe it would, Harry doesn’t know. It doesn’t even matter. 

“It’s a horse.”

Harry squints down at the book. “That’s a zebra, love.”

Madison shrugs. “Same thing.”

“I don’t think it is.”

“Yeah,” she says, a little nonsensically. She forks another bite into her mouth before flipping to a new page and pointing at a picture of a monkey. She rips it out before putting it in front of Harry and sliding the pack of markers so they’re in between them. 

“Ooh, it’s a monkey,” Jack says, and Harry turns to him, nodding. 

“Yeah, it is.”

“Daddy’s going to color it,” she says, maybe a little defensively. Harry squeezes her shoulder before picking up a marker and uncapping it. Markers somehow always get on the table, but crayons end up broken in half on the floor and into Cooper’s mouth and pencil shavings get everywhere when they use colored pencils, so markers it is. 

“Can Coop have some?” Jack asks, and he’s already bending down to give him some food off his fork before Louis intercepts it. 

“No, babe. Eat. This is your food, not his.”

Jack pouts. “But he’s hungry.”

“He’s not, but you can give him a biscuit once you’re done eating.”

“Okayy,” Jack says, and he sets the fork back down on his plate and tilts his head back against Louis’ shoulder. For a second, Harry goes back to coloring the tail of the monkey before he picks his head back up and watches Jack carefully. He doesn’t look like he’s in any pain, so that’s good, at least.

“Jack,” Harry says softly, reaching forward and setting his hand on Jack’s belly. “You feel okay, buddy?”

Louis looks down at him, frowning, and Jack squirms. 

“Not hungry,” he says, and Harry’s gut churns. 

“Okay. Are you just not in the mood, or do you feel funny?”

Louis drops a kiss to Jack’s head as he mumbles, “Belly hurts.” They exchange a look over their son’s head, and Louis shakes his head, rubbing Jack’s back gently. 

“That’s okay,” Louis says quietly. “Do you want to color for a bit? Maybe watch some TV? Or are you sleepy?”

Jack squirms some more, a clear Jack-tell that he’s tired and doesn’t want to go to bed just yet. Louis picks up on it just as easily as Harry does. 

“We can go watch TV in me and Dad’s bed, yeah? With Coop? Does that sound okay?’

Jack agrees, which is good. He’ll be asleep within seconds of being cuddled up with Louis and Cooper in a nice, proper bed. Louis picks him up and grabs his tea, and like she fears Harry’s going to run right along after them, Madison huffs. 

“We’re coloring,” she says, her face close to a scowl. “You have to finish your monkey.”

“Of course I will,” Harry tells her. He won’t leave Madison, not when all Jack is going to do is sleep. But he does promise to be right back as he follows Louis and Cooper up the stairs. He just wants to make sure they’re settled and that it’s nothing more than a bit of nausea and exhaustion. Besides, Louis forgot his tea.

Louis sits them down in the middle of the bed, getting Jack comfortable under the covers and against the pillows. Harry sets the tea down on the beside and promises to make Louis more before he kisses Louis’, then Jack’s, then Cooper’s head. 

“Text me, okay?” Harry whispers to Louis, and Louis nods. 

“He’s fine, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Harry’s about to step out of the room and return to Madison when Jack calls out for him in this sleepy, little voice. He halts and turns around, his heart melting slightly as he watches Jack rub at his eyes. 

“Pezzy,” is all he says, and Harry tells him of course. The polar bear is on the main floor with Jack’s hospital bag, so Harry quickly goes and grabs it before bringing it to him. He swears Jack’s already half-asleep when Harry places the bear next to him under the covers, and he kisses Louis on the lips before quietly going back downstairs. 

Madison looks a little surprised that he came back, which is. . .

“What do you want to do, Mads?” he asks as he sits down. “We can just color, if you like. Or we can do something else, it’s up to you.”

She thinks about it for a moment, and then she asks if they could watch a show while they color. Harry finds the tablet and powers it on, and as he scrolls through the kids’ selection, he finds himself avoiding Jack’s favorite shows and movies. 

God, the scars Jack will leave him are something Harry can’t possibly brace himself for. 

He turns on _Ice Age_ , picks up a marker, and forces himself to focus on the present. And in the present, he has an adoring husband, a loving dog, and two kids who are doing alright. 

-

At three in the morning, after an hour of coaxing Jack back to sleep since a headache had him whimpering into Louis’ chest, Harry and Louis are in the basement so they can talk without disturbing anyone. Except, neither of them really want to talk about the things they need to, they’re both achingly upset and stumbling after comfort and security, and they’re both too aware of the fact that there’s not a chance anybody will hear them if they have sex down here. 

It makes Harry feel disgusting and like a terrible father, and it honestly shouldn’t. Harry and Louis don’t have a lot of time to have sex, not when Anne is living with them and there are two kids running around all the time. They’re fucking sad, alright? Harry doesn’t think it has to be a bad thing. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but he can’t bring himself to make the first move. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Louis says. They’re sitting side by side on the couch, not touching and with their feet on the floor. 

“I don’t either.”

Louis sighs. “We’ll tell him soon, but not tomorrow or anything, so we don’t have to talk about it tonight.”

“You’re the only one talking about it.”

Louis shakes his head before turning and kissing Harry, hard. When they do this, they aren’t exactly gentle or slow about it. Not in a bad way, just -- it’s easier to forget about important things when everything’s moving so fast in the moment. Louis pushes Harry down against the couch and climbs on top of him, and then he curses quietly. 

“We are so fucking selfish,” he whispers, and he pulls away. Harry is quick to keep him close by setting his hands on Louis’ neck, preventing him from pulling back further. 

“We’re not.”

“I have Jack’s snot on my shirt, Harry,” Louis snaps, and Harry shrugs. (It’s natural, how they go back and forth. Rarely do they have a meltdown simultaneously. One of them is always the calm one and the other is the one voicing the concerns they both have. It’s just how they operate.)

“Then take it off,” he says simply, and Louis momentarily looks devastated, and just when Harry thinks maybe they shouldn’t do this while Louis’ so upset, he swears again, yanks off his shirt, and leans down to kiss Harry again. 

For eleven and a half minutes, the only two people in the world are them.

-

They end up having the talk they were supposed to have that night four hours later, at the kitchen table over coffee. They’re exhausted and probably should get some sleep before the kids wake up, but neither of them can sleep with this on their mind. 

“So,” Louis says quietly. “We have to tell him, right?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“But how? Do we just do what we did last time?”

Last time, they told Jack that the doctors needed him to go to sleep so they could help his brain. That was literally it, and he was two so he didn’t question anything. He was scared about being put under anesthesia, but it only lasted a few minutes and then he was asleep. This time, it’s different. He’s older now and has a better understanding of the fact he’s sick. 

“We can start there, maybe,” Harry says, nodding to himself as he says it. “And if he wants to know more, we can tell him.”

“I read that you shouldn’t lie. Like, if he asks if it’ll be painful, we should tell him the truth.”

Harry sucks on his teeth for a moment. He doesn’t agree with that, but at the same time, he has no way of really knowing what is best. He should trust Louis’ sources, probably. “I don’t think we should tell him that they’re cutting open his head, though.”

“No,” Louis agrees quietly, flinching slightly. “No, we shouldn’t. We should. . . I don’t know. Maybe we can tell him they’ll just, like, look at his head with machines. Like he’s used to.”

“Okay.”

Harry doesn’t know, either. 

“Let’s just see what he asks,” Louis says. “And maybe your mum can be there, too? If she’s okay with it, I mean.”

Anne hasn’t done any of this before either. It’d probably be unfair to ask her to help with this. She’s the mum here, the oldest, and that might make her feel pressured to have all the right answers. But Harry feels a million times better just imagining her there with him, so he’ll ask her of that anyway. He has never denied being selfish. 

“Yeah. She probably won’t mind. Should we tell him today, then?”

Louis shakes his head. “Tomorrow. I don’t want to tell him too soon.”

“Especially because he didn’t feel well this morning,” Harry agrees. Jack is inevitably going to be anxious about this whole thing, and Harry doesn’t want him to feel worse about it today because of this morning. He’s always a little sensitive after not feeling well. “Okay, yeah. Tomorrow.”

“And Madison? What do we tell her?”

“That Jack is going to go get help from the doctors and that he’ll be fine. We can’t worry her or she’ll worry him.”

Louis lets out a long, tired sigh before taking a sip of coffee. He scratches his face, at the unshaven stubble from being at the hospital the past week. He hates shaving a fraction less than he hates the feeling of facial hair. They’re both tired and vulnerable and sick to their stomachs with worry, and they haven’t even entered the hardest part yet. Getting Jack back onto his feet after the first surgery was the hardest period of their lives, and now they have to go through it again. Last time, there was less time to panic before it happened. Everything happened so fast. 

“We should go back to sleep,” Louis mumbles, and like his brain is pleading him not to, he takes another long sip of coffee. 

“Jack will wake up if we lay back down. Cooper, too.”

Louis shrugs. “We can sleep on the couch, then.”

“Okay.”

They finish their coffees and put the mugs in the sink before heading to the living room. Louis lays down first, so Harry gets to be the little spoon. Louis holds him tight, needing to be needed, and Harry tucks his face against his chest. There’s a blanket on the back of the couch that they use, and being covered makes Harry feel less exposed, less vulnerable. But the minute he feels comforted by Louis, he always thinks, _God, I couldn’t take it if we aren’t together forever._ Every single time; it makes him feel guilty, almost like he’s planning on their downfall. He’s not, he’s just terrified. He couldn’t do this all over again with someone else, and he wouldn’t want to. 

“Sleep,” Louis whispers, like he knows Harry’s mind is spinning. Harry presses closer to him. 

-

With both the kids home, Harry gets to fall into his role of being the stay-at-home dad again. He cooks breakfast and lunch and helps his mum with dinner, he does bath time, he plays with them all day and tucks them into bed at night. Sometimes it feels like he has no other purpose than taking care of these kids, which usually doesn’t bother him until that purpose is taken away. With Jack at the hospital and his brain too scrambled to care about anything else, Harry couldn’t distract himself or find a way to feel good about himself in any way. His main source of feeling productive and needed and like he’s good at something lies with these kids -- and Harry doesn’t know what he’d do if that was taken away.

“You’re so good with them,” Anne tells Harry at noon. Louis’ on the phone with his boss upstairs, and Harry is splayed out on the living room rug with the kids, a tub of legos spilled out in front of them. Jack’s building a flower shop, Madison a bridge, and Harry a boat. Cooper is supervising from the couch. 

Harry smiles. “It’s almost like I’m their father or something.”

“I know, I know. Some people aren’t such naturals in parenting, though. You and Louis figured it out quite quickly on your own.”

“You’ve been here with us for half of their lives,” Harry reminds. “We weren’t on our own.”

“Take the compliment,” Anne says sternly, and Harry rolls his eyes fondly before thanking her. He really does love them. They’re his best friends, pretty much. He’ll never get sick of the feeling of being loved by them. 

Louis comes out into the living room a few minutes later, and he gets down on the floor with the rest of them, slotting himself in between Madison and Harry since there’s no room between Harry and Jack. Jack has been in a good mood since he woke up, which was nine in the morning. His sleep schedule has gotten messed up from the hospital, and he jumped on top of Harry and Louis, who were still sleeping on the couch. Louis got a kick to the groin and Harry got an elbow to the nose, but still, it was a warm morning welcome. 

Harry’s staring at Jack’s flower shop that has the wonkiest foundation he has ever seen when Louis leans into him and snaps his boat in half. The kids laugh, Anne shakes her head with a smile, and Harry groans. 

“That’s not very nice, _Dad_ ,” he says, scooping up the pieces that fell off during the attack. He clips one back on, and Louis reaches over to cause more destruction. Harry slaps his hand away. “I’ve been working on this bloody boat for nearly a half hour.” He looks to Jack and stage-whispers, “You see how mean he is to me?”

Louis jabs his fingers into Harry’s side, and the kids laugh some more. 

They work on their lego creation for an hour longer until Harry gets up to start lunch. Louis follows him into the kitchen like he usually does. He doesn’t help cook -- really, he just gets in the way -- but it’s nice to have the company. 

“What did your boss say?” Harry asks as he pulls out a pan from the cabinet. He’s tired, so he’s just going to make some grilled cheese sandwiches. Nothing too fancy.

Louis makes an unhappy noise as he leans against the fridge. “He was fine with me wanting to take another week off, but when I said it might be longer than that depending on how Jack does, he got a little pissy.”

“I need the butter,” Harry says, so Louis moves. As Harry grabs what he needs from the fridge, he says, “What did you say to that?”

“I said that I won’t leave my sick kid at home to help a bunch of stupid rich people plan stupid events that nobody wants to go to.”

Harry squints at him. “I’m one of those stupid rich people, and I think, by extension, that means you are, too.”

Louis has never gotten used to having money. He works five days a week and worries about the kids’ university funds and bills, even though none of that is a problem. The kids have more money to their names already than Louis probably even realizes. Harry’s grandparents are the founders of some nation-wide paper company and his parents invested in the right stocks. Money isn’t a worry for them, but Louis didn’t grow up like Harry did and some habits are hard to shake. 

“You’re rich, but not a stupid rich person, there’s a difference,” Louis says, waving him off. He leans back against the fridge once Harry shuts it again. “He said to call him again in two weeks, so I guess that’s what I’ll do.”

Harry nods as he flicks on the burner. “Me and Mum can handle it by ourselves, you know. I mean, I know you want to be there, but he’ll be okay with us.”

“I know that, but yeah, I still want to be there. At least until he’s for sure doing alright.”

“Okay, yeah. Have you told your mum yet? About -- you know.” 

Louis shakes his head. “If I tell my mum, all my siblings find out, too, and I don’t want a million people texting me about it. I’ll tell her soon, though.”

“She might want to be there. At the hospital. She hasn’t seen the kids in a while.”

“She saw them in August,” Louis says with a sigh. “I don’t know. I think her being there will just stress me out more.”

“Okay, but she should still know.”

Louis halfheartedly kicks at Harry’s shin. “I’ll call her after we tell him.”

And Louis looks stressed about it, so Harry leaves it be with an okay. He thinks Louis’ mum being there for him will help, but if Louis doesn’t want that, then so be it. It’s okay. Harry isn’t going to tell Louis how to do this when he doesn’t have a clue how to do it himself. 

-

The following afternoon, they stick Madison in the family room with a movie playing in the background while she finger-paints, call Cooper in Jack’s room, and they all sit down with Jack to talk about it. They do what they talked about: start off by telling him a vague version of the truth and handle it from there. Jack doesn’t ask very many questions, but he’s very clearly nervous about it. His arms are wrapped around Cooper’s neck, his fingers fiddling with his name tag, the entire time they talk to him. One of the questions he does ask, though, is if he did anything wrong, which completely confuses them all and they spend a handful of minutes reassuring him over and over again that this isn’t happening because of anything he did or didn’t do. The other question he asks is if Madison will have to have it done, too, and he gets teary-eyed when they tell him no. 

Afterwards, when they’re all staring at him with watery eyes and an aching chest, Louis asks him if he wants to do anything fun, and Jack asks with a strained voice if they can go to the dog park. It’s raining and the kids will do everything in their power to find every muddy puddle in a fifty-mile radius, but immediately, they agree. 

“Can you get him all bundled up?” Louis asks Harry, motioning to Jack. “I’ll get Cooper ready and Anne will handle Maddie.”

Harry nods. His eyes are burning and itchy, his nose is running, and his throat is scratchy. Louis looks like he feels the same. “Yeah, ‘course.”

Jack sniffles at him and, without having to be asked, lets go of Cooper to stretch his arms out towards Harry. A wounded noise tears itself from Harry’s throat as he picks him up and settles him on his hip. Jack sets his cheek on Harry’s shoulder, his fingers gnawing at his shirt, and Harry kisses his head repeatedly until Anne, Louis and Cooper leave, the door shutting behind them. 

“We’ve got to get you dressed, baby,” Harry whispers, but Jack shakes his head and whimpers out a no, and Harry will not push him right now. So, he rocks him back and forth on his hip for a few minutes, texting Louis with one hand to tell him that they’ll be a while.

“It’s okay to be upset, lovey,” Harry tells him as he rubs his back. His heart is breaking into a million little pieces, only being held together by the knowledge that Jack needs him right now. “But me and Dad -- we love you to bits, okay? We’ll always take care of you. You’re our baby, and we won’t let anything happen to you.”

Each time he tells a lie like that, a lie that Louis and Harry somehow know everything and all will be forever okay, a part of himself disappears. When he’s gone, Harry won’t ever be able to forget all the lies he told him. They’ll haunt him about a million more times than they do already. 

“I know it’s scary, Jack, but you’ve done it before, remember? It wasn’t all that bad, was it?”

Jack shakes his head, tiny hands still clutching onto Harry. He probably remembers it vaguely, but not enough to remember that no, actually, it was pretty awful. 

“And when you come home,” he whispers, “me and Dad and Cooper and Maddie and Grandma will all be here to take care of you. You’ll be like a king, everyone waiting on you. You know, like the stories?”

Jack nods. It doesn’t make him smile like Harry was hoping for, though. 

So, Harry kisses his head and whispers, “And, when you’re better, we can get another dog, yeah? Like Cooper?”

Jack sits up straighter, his eyes wide with desire, and he reaches out to touch Harry’s cheek. “Yeah?” he asks, meek, and Harry kisses his hand. 

“Yeah, baby. You can even pick it out.”

“Promise?”

Harry squeezes his hip. “I promise you, darling.”

-

At the dog park, Jack vehemently refuses to be put down for even a second. He’s usually running around trying to say hi to all of the dogs or pretending like he’s the one walking Cooper, but today, he stays planted on Louis’ hip the entire time. Louis attempts to put him down for just a quick second, and Jack immediately bursts into tears and clings to him with every ounce he has in him. It’s fine, really. He still looks like he’s having a good time, and he points at nearly every dog that walks by and asks their names, and they make up goofy names that make him giggle. Madison feels a little underappreciated, so Harry focuses on making her feel included. He holds her hand the entire time, which she seems to like. 

Once the kids are worn out and their shoes have clung to every bit of mud possible, they get back in the car and head to an ice cream shop. Jack refuses to be put in his car seat just like he did on the way here, so Harry holds him tightly in the back seat. Madison fusses, saying it’s unfair, but Harry asks her maybe a little too desperately to stop. 

Harry and his mum get vanilla ice cream while everyone else gets chocolate, and they eat outside at a table with an umbrella so they’re kept out of the rain. Cooper lays the table, and Jack quietly talks to him, making faces at him and waving. He’s back in Louis’ lap, and Madison’s just about had enough with it and demanded to sit in Harry’s lap, too, which he obliged easily. Like usual, she makes less of a mess than Jack does, although she still gets ice cream on her cheeks and hands, too. 

As Louis wipes his cheek for the millionth time, Jack asks, “Will there be ice cream on Wen-day?” and Harry’s gut drops, shooting a panicked look to Louis as he sets a hand on Maddie’s head. They haven’t told her yet, and now is not the time to have this conversation. 

“Yes,” Louis says, and he tries to change the topic, but Madison is quicker than him and asks what’s happening on Wednesday. 

“Jack has another doctor’s appointment,” Louis says quickly, and then he asks what movie the kids want to watch when they get home, intentionally starting an argument between them. Anne gently touches Harry’s shoulder, then Louis’, and nods at them reassuringly. They’re doing the best they can. 

After Madison wins the argument and the decided movie is _Pooh’s Heffalump_ , she’s content and Jack is a little moody, but he doesn’t complain too much. He looks too tired to. 

Louis’ talking to Anne about -- something, Harry realizes that he doesn’t even know what the conversation is -- when Madison’s sticky fingers start to poke at Harry’s hand. Harry glances down and, unsurprisingly, she’s tracing the tattoos of their names Harry has on his right hand. It’s below his thumb, and their names are written vertically to follow the edge of his hand, Jack’s on top and Madison’s on the bottom in neat cursive writing. Louis has the same on his hand. The kids don’t really understand tattoos, but they think they’re cool anyway and somehow realize that it means something special. He watches her concentrate on poking every letter of each of their names -- and Harry mentally keeps track what letter she’s on -- and once she’s done, she reaches up to touch the cloth covering the inside of Harry’s right bicep, about two inches below where Louis’ name is. 

“Daddy,” she says, looking at him intently, and Harry has no idea what’s going on in her tiny little head, but he nods and kisses her temple. 

“Yeah, Daddy’s right there.”

And suddenly, he feels like he’s about a millisecond away from crying. It’s always so fucking abrupt. He takes a deep breath, sets his chin on Madison’s head, and looks up, trying to stop the tears from coming. It takes a few minutes, Madison’s sticky, prodding fingers and Jack’s hushed whispers to Cooper making it hard to calm down, but when he feels like he won’t cry again, he looks back down, to Louis, and Louis’ already looking at him. Wordlessly, Louis touches the spot on his bicep where Harry’s name is, and Harry nods, understanding everything that means, and he’s choked up all over again. 

-

On Tuesday night, Harry and Louis can’t even think about sleeping, so they slip outside to the back. Since decorating is in Louis’ job description, the entire house looks exactly the way both of them want it to, but the backyard is something else. The patio is fully furnished with dark wood, grey bricks, comfortable furniture and a porch swing that Harry loves but has a heart attack every time the kids sit on it. There are fairy lights, too, that are strung around the roof. They’re bright enough so they can see each other in the dark, but soft enough that the light isn’t harsh. 

They’re huddled into each other on the armchair since space is the last thing either of them want right now. Louis’ sat on his lap, and the blanket that’s wrapped around them keeps out the cold. Cooper was out with them, but they sent himself inside once it was obvious he was too cold. 

“This is still my favorite part of the house,” Louis says randomly. They’ve been crying for a while, so it’s no surprise that his voice comes out shot. “Out of everything I’ve done with your money -- ”

“ _Our_ money.”

“I didn’t earn any of that.”

“Neither did I,” Harry reminds, and Louis snorts. 

“Yeah, I guess. But out of everything we’ve done with this house, I think this is the best.”

Harry nods, agreeing. They keep talking about things that don’t matter; it’s a way to distract themselves, maybe, but it’s hard to stay distracted when one of them randomly starts crying every few minutes. It’s going to be a hard night followed by much more difficult ones, but they’ll get through it. 

“It feels like ages since I met you,” Louis says. He rubs his nose before putting his arm back underneath the blanket. 

“It’s been, like, thirteen years. I _t has_ been ages.”

Louis sighs. “I feel older than thirty-one is what I mean. Like, uni and everything feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It feels longer than four years since we’ve had the kids,” Harry agrees. “Feels like I’ve spent my whole life with them somehow. I guess in a way that’s true. . . Nothing before them matters much anymore.”

They met when Harry was sixteen and Louis was eighteen at a football game. Harry went to an all-boys’ prep school, but their footy team sucked so Harry always ditched theirs and went to his mate’s school’s games instead. Louis played on the team, and he was the fittest of the bunch, but Harry didn’t entertain the idea much. Back then, boys were an idea to him, like being in a relationship with one was something that would never happen to him. And his mate, Liam, told him that it probably wasn’t a good idea. 

“Tomlinson isn’t gay,” he said, “and even if he was, he wouldn’t get together with a private school kid.”

It was after that same game that Harry was in line at the concession stand and Louis came up and tapped him on the shoulder. Harry turned, surprised. Louis was out of his uniform and in normal clothes, and he looked determined. 

“You don’t go here,” he said. 

Harry blinked at him. “Uh, no.”

“Where _do_ you go?”

“A private school, like, an hour from here,” he admitted, because even though he thought Louis was proper fit, he wasn’t going to waste his time on someone who wouldn’t like him solely based on where he goes to school. 

But Liam was wrong, and Louis wasn’t a waste of time. 

“But you come to all the games,” Louis said. “Surely you have some sense, then.”

Harry grinned. “Just a little.”

From there, he stopped going to the game’s because Liam didn’t want to go alone and started going to the games because Louis was playing. It happened so suddenly, they started to date, and neither of them knew what they were doing for the longest time. The sex didn’t stop being awkward and uncertain until university. Harry still refuses to admit he only went to university because he was scared of losing relatability to Louis, but it doesn’t matter because he had fun at school. 

They got engaged when Harry was twenty-one, and everyone in both families adamantly disagreed with it. They all said being together for five years meant nothing when they were still so young, but Harry and Louis were certain they knew what they were doing. They still had a lot of growing up to do, sure, but they were both certain they wanted to do that growing up together. And maybe their immaturity was highlighted the night they got married, but whatever. It worked out alright. 

Harry invited Louis to his dad’s side of the family’s Easter party, and the topic of their engagement became the topic of discussion over dinner. Harry’s paternal grandparents weren’t particularly kind to Louis, to say the least, accused him of being a gold digger no matter how many times Harry said that wasn’t true. Harry’s parents were protective over Louis, too, but his grandparents just wouldn’t stop talking. So Harry made them stop. 

He grabbed Louis’ hand, stood up, and said they were leaving. When his grandmother asked where they were going, Harry looked her straight in the eye and said, “To go get married. Thanks for dinner.”

He didn’t realize he was completely serious until he was driving and Louis looked at him and said, “We didn’t have to leave. They were just being protective of you, and I’m not, like, offended. I couldn’t care less, honestly.”

“Yeah, well, I do. I don’t need to be protected from you.”

“And your solution to them being mad that we’re engaged is to marry me?”

He shrugged and said, “I don’t know, if you’re up for it.”

“You’re bloody insane,” Louis said, laughing, and he hit Harry in the shoulder when Harry didn’t laugh, too. “You’re not serious.”

“I don’t have to be. We can wait.”

Louis hit him again. “You want a big, fancy wedding that will take, like, a year to plan. Don’t abandon that just because you want to prove a point.”

“I do want to prove a point,” Harry agreed calmly. “But not to them, to you. I love you, and I want to be married to you, and I don’t think it has to be more complicated than that.”

“But the wedding,” Louis reminded, and Harry shrugged. 

“We can still have a proper wedding later on. I don’t know, I always thought having your kids in your wedding would be sort of nice.” He glanced at Louis and realized he looked completely overwhelmed, so he hit pause. “I’m just thinking out loud. We don’t have to get married. We can go home and just let everyone think we did. It’s up to you.”

Louis was quiet for about a minute before he turned to him and said, “Not tonight. We’re not getting married on a holiday, that’s dumb. But if you’re still up for it in the morning. . .”

And Harry was, so they went down to the courthouse in tuxes they bought that morning, and they then realized that you have to wait twenty-eight days after filling out the paperwork to get married. So they did, and then they got married in the courthouse in the beginning of May. Neither of them regret it at all, and Harry still feels a little smug whenever he comes back home for a holiday with Louis and his grandparents have to pretend like they’ve always supported them. 

They had a proper wedding when the kids were barely two, about four months before Jack’s diagnosis. Louis planned it, Harry paid for it, and Harry is guiltily relieved that the day was untouched by the stress of Jack’s sickness. It will forever be Harry’s second favorite day, the first being the day their surrogate had the twins. It was still somewhat of a shock, having two babies. The early scans missed Madison for months, and then suddenly at one of the appointments, Louis’ mum looked at the ultrasound and informed the doctor who they were paying very, very good money for that there were two babies. And without a doubt, Harry and Louis agreed to keep both of them. 

Louis’ right: all of that feels like ages ago. 

They talk for another twenty-five minutes, and then the door slides open. They turn to see Anne standing there, Jack half-asleep on her chest. “Someone wants to see you,” she says, just as Jack reaches his hand out towards them. Immediately, they stand, and Louis gets to Jack first, so Harry shuts the door behind them. 

“It’s only four,” Harry says kind of pointlessly. They’re supposed to leave at seven-thirty so they can get there at eight, when they’re supposed to. Jack can’t be awake this early. 

Louis is stroking his fingers over Jack’s arm, staring down at him intently. “We can get him back to sleep,” he says, and Jack squirms and protests, but he does look exhausted still. Louis takes him to their room, and Harry follows. He stops on the way to the room to grab the stuffed rabbit and polar bear from Jack’s room, and he hands them to Jack once they’re all settled in bed. 

“Not tired,” Jack mumbles against Harry’s chest, though his eyes slip shut. Louis kisses the back of his head and rubs his back, and within minutes, he’s back asleep. Louis and Harry are careful not to move around too much, but they do turn on the TV at a low volume because neither of them is going to even attempt to convince their minds to let them sleep. 

Jack wakes up again at six, which is a mostly acceptable time. He seems proper awake this time, too, so they don’t coax him back to sleep. 

“I’m hungry,” he says, and Harry and Louis frown. 

“You can’t eat before the procedure, babes, I’m sorry. But we can take Cooper out for a walk.”

It’s a shit compromise, but Jack gets distracted anyway. He loves Cooper more than almost anything, which becomes helpful when they need to distract him or make him happy, like now. 

Jack is quiet on the walk. They ask if he’s nervous, and he won’t admit to it. He holds both of their hands and just walks -- there’s no commentary about the passing cars or squirrels or his sister. He’s quiet. He’s scared. 

When they’re getting him ready to leave, Jack gets teary-eyed. Harry’s buttoning up his coat when he notices, and he immediately pulls him in for a hug, desperate to ease his nerves. 

“You’ve done it before, baby,” he reminds. “When you were so much littler, too. You’re big now, you’re so big, baby. You got this. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“Is Maddie coming?” he asks, hiccupping, and Harry shakes his head. 

“No, love. She’s sleeping. But she’ll be there when you wake up, okay?”

“Promise?”

“I promise, baby. So will me and Dad and Grandma. We’ll be right there for you.”

Jack sniffles. “The whole time?”

“Every minute, love.”

Harry’s heart has broken two-hundred times over by the time they get to the hospital. As soon as they walk in, Jack gets into game-mode. He hides his nerves, he doesn’t want to be carried, and he’s a bit more talkative. Either they’ve soothed him enough for him to feel prepared, or he’s realized that he’s been to the hospital tens of times before and it isn’t all that scary. Whatever it is, Harry couldn’t be more relieved to see him wave at the receptionist. 

“We’re here to check-in,” Louis says. Harry can tell how hard he’s holding Jack’s hand, but Jack doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Okay,” the receptionist says. “What’s the name of the patient?”

“Jack. Jack Styles.”

“Okay, great. If I could just have you sign here, and then once you’re done, you can go to floor six, room eleven. I’ll page someone to let them know you’re here.”

“Okay,” Louis says, but he doesn’t make a move from the pen. He looks lost, a little bit, so Harry grabs the pen and signs them in instead. Jack seems like the least nervous right now, so Harry grabs Louis’ hand on the way to the elevator. His palms are clammy and shaky, same as Harry’s. 

“Press the sixth button, bub,” Harry tells Jack, and Jack nearly clicks floor five. Harry’s quick to move his hand to the right button, and he tugs him back as the door closes. 

-

The morning went by achingly slow, but the next two hours fly by. 

Jack gets examined, and then they take him for tests. Every person who sees Jack is in the fakest best mood possible, and it’s good, because as the time gets closer, Jack gets quieter. Harry and Louis, too. It’s impossible to fake happiness at this point, and the nurses doing it for them is a big relief. 

By the time they have Jack walking down a long hallway with a hospital gown on, it’s far too soon. It’s far too fucking soon, this is all happening too fast. Harry and Louis are allowed ten minutes to sit with him in the last room before he’s taken into surgery. They’re the ten most daunting minutes of their lives. 

“It shouldn’t take too long, baby,” Louis says, voice trembling. He smooths over a wrinkle in Jack’s blanket. “And when you wake up, you can finally eat. What do you want, hmm?”

Jack’s answer is immediate. “Chicken nuggets.”

Louis laughs. “Alright, I think we can do that.”

“Daddy said we can get another dog,” Jack says. “Like Cooper. When I get better.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, ‘course. I told you, babe, you can pick it out, too. And name it, if you want.”

Jack’s eyes light up. He looks down at Harry’s hand, at the way Harry’s playing with his fingers, just like Louis’ doing with his other hand. “Snoopy if it’s a boy,” Jack says thoughtfully. After a few more seconds, he says, “And Hallie for a girl. Like in Maddie’s show.”

Harry must be a bad dad, because he doesn’t know a Hallie in one of Madison’s shows. He’s not entirely focused on that, though. He’s more focused on the fact that Jack is about the sweetest kid in this entire world and he doesn’t deserve to have his _brain_ poked around at. In just under ten minutes. God. 

“Those are good names,” he says, nodding. Louis agrees. 

They have seven minutes left. The next four are spent with Jack rambling about what the dog he wants will look like. The final three are quiet -- a nurse comes in to check something, and Jack senses that it’s time. And then Louis and Harry are being asked to leave, and it takes everything inside of them to hold off on crying. 

Before the surgery, the words, “See you in a little bit, okay? I love you, baby, so much,” followed by a kiss to the forehead is Harry’s goodbye. “We’ll be waiting just outside, love. Every minute, you hear me? We love you, sweetheart,” is Louis’. 

They leave, then, after Jack gets a tight hug from both of them. Walking down the hallway seems even longer than the first time did, and they don’t look at each other, or talk to each other, or do anything but squeeze each other’s hands as tight as they can. 

And then the waiting starts, as well as the tears. 

-

They’re given a pager, just like they were the last time, which will let them know if they’re needed or if there’s an update on the surgery. It makes it so they’re able to go out to the car without feeling anxious that they’ll miss something. They sit in the car and cry, because doing it in the waiting room was too embarrassing. They just need to get it out now, and then they can sit and wait without drawing so much attention to themselves. Maybe it’s wrong to even be thinking about anyone else right now, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that his son is in surgery right now, and he doesn’t need to feel judged for crying about it. 

“Maddie’s awake,” Louis croaks out at half past ten. Harry looks at him for the first time in nearly a half hour, and his skin is as red and damp as Harry’s. He’s biting on his bottom lip and blinking rapidly, probably trying to put a stop to the tears. Harry wipes at his own eyes, feeling caught, somehow. 

He clears his throat to say, “Okay.” He hasn’t checked his own phone since they got here, so he pulls it out. Almost immediately, though, all the texts from friends and family wishing them the best is overwhelming, and he swipes it all away. The only texts he reads are from his mum, his sister, and Liam. Those are the only people whose support doesn’t feel violating. 

“He seemed okay,” Harry says, except he doesn’t realize it was him who said it until Louis nods. He feels so lost, so scrambled. He’s not going to be able to catch his breath until Jack is out of surgery and in his sight. 

“Yeah. Wasn’t as scared as I thought he’d be. He’s a strong kid.”

Louis should know by now that there’s almost nothing that irritates him more than hearing that. It’s right up there with people telling him that God won’t take Jack until it’s his time -- well, what the fuck does he do if he doesn’t believe in God? What then? And even if he did, how is he supposed to be comforted by the fact that someone put Jack in their lives only for him to be ripped away in one of the worst ways possible?

“He’s four. He shouldn’t have to be strong.” Harry says. It’s as polite as he can manage, and even then, it comes out cold. He doesn’t mean to be that way towards Louis, ever but especially now, so he reaches over to grab his hand. He can’t tell which of theirs are trembling worse. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, and you know what I mean.”

He squeezes Harry’s hand tight, and it’s not as reassuring as it normally is. A strained sigh falls from his lips as he leans over to set his forehead on Louis’ chair. He wants to be held but doesn’t have the courage to ask for it, not when they’re both going through the same thing. Louis places his empty hand on the back of his neck, and it’s close enough. 

“Who’s Hallie?” Harry asks. 

“What?”

“Hallie. Jack said she was from one of Maddie’s shows, but I don’t know who he’s talking about.”

“Oh,” Louis mumbles. He starts to move his fingers against Harry’s neck, and it makes him close his eyes. They feel swollen and sticky already, and it’s not even been an hour. “The hippo from that one doctor show. _Doc McStuffins_.”

God, he’s going to cry again. At least he can feel it coming on rather than it attacking him abruptly. 

“Oh, right. She -- Louis, shit. They love each other so much.”

“Yeah, they do. Best friends, them.”

Harry sobs quietly. Crying takes so much energy, energy that he doesn’t have right now. “She can’t lose him. She can’t -- we know the risks here, we know he’s on borrowed time, but she _doesn’t._ She can’t lose her brother.”

“Hey,” Louis says softly. “She’s not going to.”

“Maybe not today,” Harry cries. “Not today or tomorrow or next month, even, but it’s going to happen, it’s going to, and we -- ”

“Don’t get yourself worked up about what if’s when what is actually happening is already bad enough,” Louis says sternly, and he squeezes Harry’s hand tightly but the hand on the back of his neck remains light. 

“But they were supposed to have each other forever, they were -- that’s what you’re bloody promised with having a twin, and -- ”

“Babe, stop it. We’ve gone through this so many times before, and we can’t do it again. Not today. We don’t deserve that, come on.”

He doesn’t say it meanly, he’s pleading for it, so Harry shuts up. Louis was right: adding to their pain right now is pointless, and that wasn’t his intention. Right now, there is enough going on. Planned brain surgery usually goes well, they go in and out and do what they need to do, and Harry needs to remember that. Jack’s done this before, and he’ll do it today, and he’ll do it again if he has to. These next few weeks will be hard, but not impossible. Louis has said that to him so many times by now that it’s finally starting to stick. 

“Look at me,” Louis says, voice gentle, so Harry slowly picks his head up to look at him. His eyes feel so heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and tears. Louis presses a kiss to his forehead, and Harry leans into it. “I love you,” he says, and even though he’s said it probably a million times at this point, it soothes Harry long enough that he stops crying again. 

-

Ten minutes after they return to the waiting room to sit, it’s Harry’s turn to comfort Louis. 

The waiting room is mostly bare, thankfully. There’s only one other family here; there are six of them, and by the sounds of it, their brother was taken into emergency surgery and hasn’t woken up yet, even though he was supposed to by now. Two of them -- the sisters, Harry’s pretty sure -- are crying. By the time Harry pulls his eyes away, realizing he was eavesdropping, Louis is crying next to him, too. Silent, steady tears stream his cheeks, and Harry nudges his knee with his own. 

“Do you want me to get anything for you?” he asks, because sometimes when he can’t find the right words, he can find the right things to do. Louis shakes his head at first and wipes his cheeks, but then he nods. 

“Coffee, please. And not the shit kind, find me some real coffee.”

“Okay,” Harry says, standing up a little too eagerly. He just wants to help Louis the way Louis helps him. “I think they have a Costa outlet downstairs. Do you want your regular?”

“Yeah, please.”

Harry bends down to kiss his head and hands him the pager. He’ll be closer if anything happens, so he should be the one to have it right now. Louis squeezes his shoulder as he stands up, and Harry makes it only a few steps forward before he eyes the family again. They all look tired and stressed and maybe in need of a little human kindness, but there’s still a chance they’ll get upset by him asking. He decides to ask anyway, and when he walks closer, they fall silent and look at him expectantly. 

Addressing the mother, Harry says, “I’m going downstairs to get coffee. I was just wondering if anybody wanted anything.”

There’s a brief second where they exchange looks with each other, and Harry hopes that this isn’t inappropriate. 

“Dimitris, go with this man,” the mum demands, and a young man stands. He’s twenty at the most, and he eyes Harry tiredly. “Thank you, sir,” she says, nodding at Harry, and he nods back. 

“It’s not a problem.”

“Here, Dimitris, take my card,” she says, grabbing for her purse, and Harry puts his hand out, waving her off. 

“No, no, it’s okay. I offered, don’t worry about it.”

She argues with him a little bit on it, but she lets it go once Harry says, “I just want to do something nice for someone. And if you’re here, I think you deserve something nice, even if it’s only coffee.”

So, Harry and Dimitris walk down the hallway together towards the elevator. He feels bad that he was the one volunteered to go, but maybe it’s good to walk around a bit. Harry knows he needs it himself; sitting and waiting is the worst part. 

It’s after Harry pushes the elevator button that Dimitris speaks. 

“What’s your name?”

“Harry. And you’re Dimitris?”

“Yeah. We’re here for my brother.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down. Harry would comfort him if he knew what to say. “Who are you here for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Harry looks down, too. This shouldn’t be awkward, should it? They’re talking about deeply personal things, sure, but that doesn’t mean Harry has to feel so _ashamed_ , almost. “My son. He’s having a brain tumor removal surgery.”

“Oh, shit,” Dimitris says, looking up. His eyes are wide. “I’m sorry, mate. That’s awful.”

“He’ll be okay. So will your brother.”

Dimitris frowns. “You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t. But it’s at least nice to try and stay positive. For me, anyway. Even though it’s really hard to be.”

“It just isn’t supposed to be like this, you know?” Dimitris says. He wipes his cheek on his shoulder even though he hasn’t started crying yet. Maybe the surgery was completely out of left field and his brother wasn’t sick long-term like Jack has been. Harry tried hiding his tears in the beginning, too. Before he realized it was a waste of energy. Dimitris sniffles. “My brother -- he’s twenty-one. He was walking his girlfriend home last night and got hit by some drunk driver doing one-hundred and twenty kilometers per hour in a residential area. His girlfriend died, and he might, too. And your son. . . We’re supposed to die old, you know? We’re supposed to have a beginning, middle and end. It isn’t fair.”

The elevator opens, and neither of them move at first. When someone else walks in, Harry starts walking forward, Dimitris following behind him. He finds the Costa outlet easily, and there’s a line that they slow to tail, and Dimitris continues. 

“My brother has barely begun the middle part of his life yet. There’s no way it ends here. And your son, how old is he?”

Harry smiles sadly. He’d be crying by now, probably, if it wasn’t for the fact that his brain is in comfort-Louis mode. He can’t be selfish right now. “Four,” he says. “He’ll be five in August.”

Dimitris shakes his head, and he genuinely looks angry. “Shit’s fucked up, man.”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. “Yeah, I know.”

Harry buys black coffee for himself, a caramel latte for Louis, and Dimitris orders six vanilla cold brews. He feels bad about letting Harry pay, but Harry couldn’t care less. He and Louis have been together for ages, and Louis still hasn’t managed to rub off any of his responsible-spending skills onto Harry. 

They’re quiet on the way back up to their floor, but once the elevator opens and they’re walking down the hallways towards their loved ones, Dimitris turns to him and says, “You’re right. My brother and your son -- they’re both going to be fine. They’ll walk out of here with cool scars to impress the ladies with, yeah?”

Harry snorts, unable to even imagine Jack or Madison ever being in a relationship. He refuses to become an overprotective parent, so he’s going to have to figure out how to stomach the idea of someone messing with his kids’ heart. The idea makes his blood boil, and they still have a long way to go before dating is even a thing. 

Jack won’t ever get to have a serious relationship, but Harry finds himself imagining proms and dates and flowers anyway. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, smiling gently. “Yeah, they will.”

When he returns to Louis, he notices Louis’ moved the chairs so that they’re facing each other and can sit with each other easier. (And there’s a sign literally right above them that asks them not to move the furniture, so maybe it’s okay that Harry’s still wastes money because Louis still breaks simple rules.) He sits down and hands Louis his coffee, leaning their shoulders together and sliding his shoe to line up with Louis’. Louis sets his head on Harry’s shoulder and sighs quietly. 

“That was nice of you,” he says. “She really appreciated it, you could tell. Called you an angel.”

Harry leans his head against Louis’ as he says, “I love you, Louis.”

Louis presses his shoe against Harry’s firmer. “I love you, too.”

-

Anne calls at noon, and Harry talks to her a little while. He tells her no, there’s been no updates and yes, it’ll be another hour or two before they hear anything and no, he doesn’t need her to come up to the hospital just yet. She’s as nervous as he is, Harry can hear it in her voice, and he hopes Maddison hasn’t fed off of everyone’s nervous energy. 

“Oh, she’s fine,” Anne tells him when he voices his concerns. “We’re out back with Cooper playing fetch. Although I think she’s looking for bugs now. You used to do that as a kid, too.”

“Has she asked about anything?”

“Of course she has, love. She’s a curious one. But all I’ve told her is that Jack will most likely be awake tonight, and that you’ll let us know once he’s ready to see everyone.”

Harry nods to himself. “Yeah, okay. Good. And she doesn’t seem worried?”

“I told you, she’s fine. How’s Louis?”

“Louis is fine,” Louis mumbles beside him. He’s laying with his legs over Harry’s lap, and he’s been mindlessly scrolling through his phone for the past half hour. Harry’s been listening to music to distract himself, and he offered to listen to a podcast with Louis, but Louis kicked at him and said podcasts are for old people. 

“Louis’ fine,” Harry echoes. “We’re both doing alright, really. I mean, this morning we were a bit of a wreck, but we’re pushing through it. 

“So is your boy in that surgery room, my love.”

Harry nods, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, I hope so.”

-

An hour later, Harry and Louis watch Dimitris’ family get called into the consultation room. Once they return, they’re smiling and hugging each other and saying, _Thank God, thank God, oh, thank God, he’s alright_ , and Harry’s own shoulders sag in relief. 

Dimitris’ brother is okay. Harry catches himself praying that it’s a good news type of a day, and that grace will be brought onto his son next.

-

It’s 1:03 when Surgeon Jones walks into the waiting room. 

Louis’ the first to notice her, and he bolts up to his feet. Harry follows quickly after him before even realizing that Dr. Jones is there, and when he sees her, he swears under his breath as they hurry over to her. She smiles warmly at them, and Harry isn’t naive enough to think that means anything. 

“Are you Jack’s parents?” she asks, and Louis nods and tells her yes. “Okay, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to speak with you in the consultation room.”

“‘Course,” Harry says. They follow closely behind her, and she takes them to a small room with nothing but two chairs and a painting of a ship on the wall. The last time they did this, Harry would have bet his life on assuming that being asked to come into a separate room was a sure sign that they were receiving bad news. He had already convinced himself Jack was gone when the last surgeon told them he was doing fine, and he desperately tries not to do that to himself again. Louis sits in the chair, and Harry stands beside it, his hand on Louis’ shoulder. 

“Is he okay?” Louis asks just when Harry is about to ask the same thing. She’s taking too long to get to the fucking point. 

She’s smiling again. “Jack is out of surgery and is currently in a recovery room. The surgery went as planned, and he’s expected to make a full recovery.”

All the blood rushes to Harry’s head, his throat feels tight, his legs feel weak, and he can’t hear properly for a few seconds -- and he was just told _good_ news. He doesn’t even want to imagine what it would look like if they were told bad news. He swallows and blinks hard, trying to steady himself, and Louis’ hand comes up to grab his, their intertwined hands sitting on top of Louis’ shoulder. The surgeon’s smile looks a lot less daunting now, and Harry clears his throat. 

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely. “For, like. Taking care of him.”

She nods at him. “Of course, that’s my job. So, just so we’re all on the same page, we were only able to remove about thirty-five to forty percent of the tumor, but that’s still good news. He’ll most likely be in less discomfort than he was before.”

That’s better than nothing, and Harry will take it and pocket this as a win. 

“And the anesthesia?” Louis asks. “That’ll take, like, an hour to wear off, right? And then he’ll be awake?”

“It varies, but yes, an hour is what we expect.”

Harry lets out a deep breath of relief. An hour, and then he gets to spend time with his son, no matter how much borrowed time they’ve already had. 

As Harry and Louis follow Dr. Jones to Jack’s room, hand-in-hand, Harry feels himself warming up to the idea that maybe. . . maybe it’s okay to start thinking of a future. Actually, properly think about it. Disneyland and pre-school and field trips; maybe they can still have that Jack. It’s been so long of Harry thinking that was naive to think about, bracing himself for the worst, but his kid has gotten through brain surgery twice now and he’s getting through the days fairly gracefully. Maybe it’s time that he takes a long, deep breath and accepts that not everything is going to fall apart so soon. 

Dr. Jones excuses herself once she shows them the right room, and he’s thankful for it. Yes, she just did a great deal for their son, but he wants some time alone right now. Louis’ the one that opens the door, and seeing Jack -- actually seeing that he’s okay, not just hearing about it -- makes Harry get that faint feeling all over again. 

-

Madison and Anne get to the hospital two hours later, despite the fact that Harry had explained that even though Jack woke up for a few minutes, he quickly fell back asleep. It means the anesthesia has worn off mostly, but he’s still exhausted, and Harry doesn’t want more people moving around in his room. Anne promises to keep Madison occupied elsewhere, though. 

“Go talk to her,” Louis tells him once Anne texts that they’re here. Harry frowns, and Louis shakes his head at him. “He’ll be right here when you get back. I’ll stay with him, okay? Go talk to Maddie, tell her everything’s fine, and update Mum on everything.”

Harry takes a long look at Jack, who is still very much asleep and will remain asleep during the duration Harry is gone. Logically, he understands that, but sitting next to him is doing wonders for Harry’s nerves. He doesn’t want to leave him. And he wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for Madison; she needs to be taken care of, too, even if that looks differently than how Jack needs taken care of. He kisses Louis chastely before standing up. He has to resist the urge to kiss Jack, so he doesn’t wake him, and leaves. 

He finds Madison and his mother at the cafeteria. Anne’s paying for something in the vending machine while Madison holds her hand, and he watches them for a few seconds, watches Anne tell Madison to grab the bag of chips out of the bottom and hold them tight. They turn around, and like she knew somehow, Madison’s eyes immediately find him, and she bursts into a smile. 

“Hiya, baby bee,” he says, grinning as she basically throws herself at him so he’ll pick her up. He does, and she plants a kiss to his cheek. 

“Is Jack done with his visit?” she asks. She’s crushing the bag of chips with how she’s holding it, so he gently takes it from her and hands them to his mum when she’s close enough. Harry adjusts his hold on her as he leans in to kiss his mum’s cheek, and again, Madison kisses his cheek. 

“Jack’s sleeping right now,” he tells her. “He might sleep all day, but that’s alright, right?”

Madison nods. 

They sit at a table nearby. Madison demands to stay in Harry’s lap, and he doesn’t have the energy to argue so he lets her. She eats her chips and plays on Harry’s phone while Anne and Harry talk about the surgery in vague terms; Madison isn’t paying attention, but still. He doesn’t want to scare her. 

“If Jack doesn’t wake before tonight, I’ll take this one back home so Cooper isn’t by himself all night,” Anne says. “And if he does, I’ll have Gemma pick him up and take him to her flat.”

“I want to see Aunty Gem,” Madison says distractedly, and then she shoves the phone in Harry’s face and asks him to help her with her game. He doesn’t even know what it is or when it was downloaded onto his phone or by who, but he does the level and hands it back to her. 

“I’m just glad Cooper isn’t a super high-energy dog,” Harry says. He’s watching Madison play her game over her shoulder, and she’s awful at it, but he ignores that. “He knows to calm down around Jack. One less thing we have to worry about, you know?”

Anne nods. “Yeah, for sure.”

They talk for a few more minutes before Madison starts to squirm in his lap and asks to go outside for a walk. It’s cold out, but Anne doesn’t seem to mind, so Harry doesn’t tell her no. She gets upset when she realizes that Harry isn’t coming with them, but Harry tells her that he can’t leave Louis alone or he’ll get lost, and it gets him off the hook. 

He’s one-hundred percent convinced that Jack will be up and talking by the time he gets back, but he isn’t. Louis is still where he left him, too, except now he’s reading one of the books Harry packed in the hospital bag. 

“You know,” Louis says quietly as Harry sits back down beside him. “Your taste in literature shows how pompous you still are.”

“Why, ‘cause it doesn’t have pictures?” Harry asks, snorting.

Louis scowls at him. “No, because it’s boring.”

He must actually think so, because he reads twenty-five pages of the book before he falls asleep, his head leaned against Harry’s shoulder and his mouth agape. Harry takes the book from him and reads it himself. He nearly falls asleep, too, only being kept awake by Anne’s frequent texts. He texts Liam a bit as well, looking for some distractions, and it serves him well. He’s texting Liam back about his girlfriend’s dog’s bad habit of peeing in the house (aka, Liam’s attempt at taking his mind off things), when Jack lets out a sleepy little sound. Harry glances at him, and sure enough, blue eyes are staring back at him. 

Harry sits up quickly, scooting his chair up closer to the bed. “Hey,” he says softly, and he shoves at Louis’ shoulder to wake him. “Hey, baby. Told you we’d be here.”

It only takes a second or two for Louis to be right next to him, whispering his own sweet words to their son. They’re stuck between trying to take it easy on him while also wanting him to say _something_ , but all they get is slow blinking and sleepy yawns and a small noise of content when Louis rubs his arm. He pulls the stuffed polar bear that Louis set near him to his chest, and within about two minutes of him being awake, he’s asleep again.

“It feels like when they were newborns,” Louis whispers, pulling his arm away from Jack. He sits against the chair and sighs. “All you wanted to do was talk to them and they were asleep, like, ninety percent of the day.”

Harry smiles at that. Really, compared to his sister and Louis’ experience with children, Jack was a fussy baby. He cried far more than Madison did. Puked on them more, too. For the most part, though, Harry never really minded getting up in the middle of the night to go comfort them. He’d hand Madison off to Louis so she could settle down without her brother disturbing her, and then he’d take Jack to the living room and calm him down until he fell back asleep. Harry has spent his whole life wanting to be a father, and even though the sleep-deprivation got a little intense at times, he found himself being glad that Jack was crying for them. For _him_. Because all he wanted in life was to be the person that his children came to when they needed help, for anything. Even if it was just to be held for a few minutes before going back to sleep, only to do it again an hour later. 

“We have the best kids in the entire world, Louis,” Harry says, voice hushed. He sets his head on Louis’ and wraps his arms around him.

Louis nods. “We really do.”

-

Madison and Anne manage to catch an hour of time with Jack, in between one nap and the next. They thought that they’d have to keep reminding Madison to keep her energy levels low, but she seems to grasp onto Jack’s relaxed demeanor and understands that he’s injured. She seems a little spooked by his quietness and the bandage on his head, but once she realizes that Jack is still Jack, just a little tired, she seems to let go of that fear. Jack’s too exhausted to do anything other than watch a movie with her, but she doesn’t seem to mind that, either. 

Harry and Louis take turns in who gets to sit with Jack on the bed. Madison demands to be on whoever’s lap it is at the time. They don’t want to crowd Jack’s space too much, but Jack is visibly relaxed with one of them next to him, an arm wrapped around him. 

“When will we get another dog, Daddy?” Jack asks quietly, peering at Harry. He’s sat in the bed with Louis right now, while Harry and Anne are on the chairs. 

Harry smiles gently at him. “As soon as you feel better, baby.”

“I already feel better. Can we get one today?”

“No, darling,” Harry says, laughing. “Not today. Maybe next month, alright? Until then, you can snuggle with Cooper a whole bunch, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack agrees, and he sets his head on Louis’ shoulder again. “I love Cooper,” he says, and Harry and Louis both look at each other, recognizing how tired he is. Wordlessly, Harry stands to grab Madison off Louis’ lap so it’s more comfortable on the bed. She’s getting tired, too, so she doesn’t complain. 

“We know you do, bub,” Louis says. “He loves you, too.”

Jack falls asleep on Louis’ shoulder, and as soon as he’s out, Anne and Madison say goodbye. Harry kisses them both goodbye while Louis sends air kisses, not wanting to disturb Jack. And then it’s just the three of them again. 

“You should sleep, babe,” Louis says quietly. 

It’s been far too long since Harry slept, and it’s starting to weigh on him heavily. “Yeah,” he says, leaning back against the chair. “I know.”

“I’ll wake you if he gets up again,” Louis promises, already knowing that’s what Harry’s going to ask. Harry nods and thanks him. He gets the chairs set up so he can stretch out a little, and he lays the blanket that they brought from home over himself. For the first time since Jack had that seizure a few weeks ago, Harry closes his eyes and doesn’t feel like he’s drowning in worry. 

-

His body knows something is wrong before he does. 

He lurches upright, his hands flying out to steady himself on the arm rests to push himself up. He’s on his feet before he can even process anything around him, everything surrounding him white noise to his ear and his vision blurry from having woken up so suddenly. For a moment -- one last moment of peace -- he thinks he woke up from a nightmare. And then everything catches up to him all at once, and he’s trying to push past Louis, who’s keeping him back, as people in uniform swarm his son’s bed, and there’s a loud beeping noise. 

“Harry, Harry,” Louis keeps saying, his hands on Harry’s body, keeping him back. Harry’s still so disoriented, and he has no chance at calming down until he figures out what is happening. 

“What’s -- Louis, what’s going on, what happened, what -- ”

“I don’t know,” Louis tells him, and he starts to say something else, but then they’re rushing Jack out of the room and Harry staggers after them. He faintly hears Louis tell him not to look, to stay back, but Harry doesn’t -- can’t -- listen. Harry follows the people swarming his son, talking in rushed voices and moving frantically, and Louis follows him. 

“What are you doing to him?” is ripped from Harry’s throat, voice wrecked and desperate. “What’s happening, what’s -- ”

He must be getting too close to the doctors, because a nurse, one who isn’t fucking _stealing_ their son from them without a word, approaches him. 

“You two need to stay here,” he says, “the doctors -- ”

“Just where are they _taking_ him?” Harry asks. They turn down a hallway and Harry can’t see what’s happening anymore, and he stumbles forward again, this time into the nurse who won’t let him past, he won’t let him see his son, what’s happening, Jesus Christ, what is _happening?_

“We have no idea what’s going on,” Louis explains with a trembling voice, and the arms around Harry’s waist pulling him away from the nurse must belong to him. “What’s -- someone needs to tell us what’s happening.”

“I can try to figure that out for you if you stay here, okay?”

Harry feels his body give, and he would have definitely fallen to the ground if it wasn’t for Louis’ arms keeping him upright. “That’s our son,” he says, breathless, and Louis says something that sounds vaguely like it’s in agreement but Harry can’t make it out. 

God, he’s going to throw up. His body is hot and his throat feels full and -- God, where are they _taking_ him, they can’t just take him, what the hell is going on?

“Stay here,” the nurse tells him, and Harry tries to protest, he whimpers and struggles with as much strength that he has, which is strangely little considering how full of adrenaline he feels right now. Louis keeps him back, and then the nurse is walking away. Harry jerks forward, and Louis must think he’s trying to go after him but he’s not, he’s not, and he yanks himself free from Louis’ arms to stumble towards the garbage he doesn’t even remember seeing. He throws up, and it’s awful, and his head feels like it’s spinning, and Louis’ on him again, gentle hands steering him to nearby seats. Louis can’t comfort him right now, though, not when their son is gone and potentially dying, not when Louis’ sobbing, not when the world feels like it’s repainted itself to match every single one of Harry’s nightmares. 

As his body slows down, slowly catching up more and more, his mind speeds up. He can’t stay on one thought at a time, it’s all just coming together to create panic, and he needs that nurse to come back and tell what is going on. 

“What happened?” Harry asks hoarsely, turning to Louis, who’s crying into his hands. It’s always been a knee-jerk reaction to comfort Louis, but right now he can’t even figure out what that would look like. 

Louis sniffles and pulls his hands away. His skin is flushed and wet, his eyes bloodshot and tired. His hands are shaking, and then Harry remembers how, and he grabs them with his own, turning towards him, their knees knocking into each other. 

“His monitor started making noise,” Louis croaks out, and he doesn’t look at Harry. “And I called for a nurse, and then -- I don’t know, it all happened so fast. I was asleep, too.”

“You didn’t hear them say anything?”

Louis shakes his head tiredly. “Just something about his blood pressure, I don’t know.”

Maybe this is all a misunderstanding. Maybe Jack’s blood pressure dropped or shot up, and they’re doing whatever it is they do to fix that sort of stuff. Maybe everything’s going to be fine still. 

Harry wishes he could convince himself that, even for a moment, but he can’t. 

“I’m gonna go find that bloody nurse,” Harry mumbles as he stands. He lets go of Louis’ hands briefly, but Louis doesn’t let him. He, too, stands, and they follow the direction the nurse went. 

He’s stepping out of a room just as Harry and Louis turn the corner. He locks eyes with them, and there’s guilt on his face and hesitance in his posture as he walks towards them. 

“I don’t know all the details,” he tells them, and he would sound believable if it wasn’t for the way his eyes can’t stay on either of them. “A senior clinician will be out in -- ”

Dr. Pratt is the next to step out of the room, and Harry tugs Louis along as he walks towards her. She’ll give them a straight answer, no bullshit. Her expression is a lot less telling than the nurse’s was, and Harry thinks that might mean that he’s still alive. Harry can take things being bad if it means that his son is at least still alive, he can, he can do that. And then she asks them to sit down, and Harry’s whole body heats up, his mind blacks out. 

“Just say it,” Louis demands. “Just tell us what the hell is going on. He was fine, and now he’s -- ” his voice catches, and then he stops talking. Dr. Pratt takes a deep breath before she talks. 

“Jack suffered a stroke,” she says. “And I’m deeply sorry to tell you that he didn’t make it. We did everything we could, but he died. Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

He had always wondered how this moment would go. How it would happen, how it would feel. Harry always wanted Jack to die during his sleep, without any pain, but not like this. Not in a hospital, not via a stroke, not hours after they were told he had a successful surgery. The tumor was supposed to be the cause of it, not a goddamn surgery that Harry and Louis signed him up for. And how it feels. . . Harry can’t think for the first few moments. Everything is deafeningly quiet, and the floor feels like it has dropped beneath his feet. His body is boiling hot, but when Louis lets go of his hand, he’s achingly cold, too. Everything’s too much, everything is happening too fast, it’s -- God, no. No. This can’t be happening. 

Bile races up his throat once he realizes that their son is lying dead on a table in a room only a few feet away, and he doesn’t know where a trash can is this time and he doesn’t even care. He throws up near a wall just a few feet away from Louis and Dr. Pratt. Sitting there, crouched -- he can’t bring himself to get back up, so he lowers himself to the floor, leans against the wall. His hands are trembling worse than they ever have before. 

A breath gets caught in his chest, and then he’s sobbing. Heavy, thick cries push through him in waves, crashing into without pause, and it hurts, everything hurts, and he shouldn’t have been asleep, and this is all too much. This is -- he drops his forehead to his knee, curling in on himself more, and it hurts even worse sitting this way, but he doesn’t move. He can’t. 

He has no idea how long it is until Louis drops into the chair beside Harry. God, _Louis_. Still shaking with sobs, Harry reaches out to touch Louis, to put his wavering hand on his arm, but Louis pulls away. 

“Don’t touch me,” he says, sounding wounded and panicked, and Harry does the exact opposite of what he asked. He stands; the energy needed to do that coming solely from his love for Louis, and he tries to wrap his arms around Louis’ neck for a hug, but Louis pushes him off again. So, Harry sinks back to the floor in a crouch, and he wraps his arms around his leg instead, setting his forehead on Louis’ knee now. Louis doesn’t push him away this time. 

-

It’s two o’clock in the morning, seventy-two minutes after they find out Jack is gone, and they’re sitting in his hospital room. They never brought the bed back, so Harry and Louis sit in the chairs, side by side, and they barely speak. Louis holds onto Jack’s jacket and cries, and Harry pets the fur of the stuffed polar bear in an attempt to soothe himself, the same way Jack had done countless times. His nose and eyes burn, his skin is sticky and damp, and there's a headache raging in his head. He feels nauseous again, like his body is scrambling to scrape enough up to puke again. 

The silence is suffocating, but when Louis finally speaks, Harry would rather the quiet. 

“You need to call your mum,” he says, voice scratchy and toneless. Harry’s eyes well up at the idea of telling anyone what happened. He’s still trying to process it, and he’s not ready to explain it to anybody else just yet. 

“I can’t,” he says, sniffling. 

“Call her,” Louis says, harsher than Harry likes. “I want to go home, and I can’t -- I don’t want Madison there yet. We can’t tell her yet.”

“But -- ”

“ _Call her_ ,” Louis repeats. “I can’t fucking be here anymore.”

Harry’s crying heavily again by the time he has the phone pressed to his ear. He hiccups quietly, and Louis sets his hand on his shoulder. He’s crying, too, Harry can hear it, and he doesn’t want to see it anymore. 

“Harry,” is all his mum says before he loses it. He wasn’t ready to do this, not yet, and now his mum is asking him over and over again what’s wrong. He’s crying so hard that he’s choking on it, and so is Louis, and Harry isn’t ready to open up this wound further for everyone else to see, but he doesn’t have a choice anymore. 

He's nearly hyperventilating when he chokes out, “He’s gone, Mum,” and somehow, everything feels _worse_ once the words are out. It’s like something in his chest has shattered, and it feels impossible to get through it. 

“Oh, sweetheart. Oh -- let me call Gemma and have her come watch Maddie so I can come be there, okay?”

“Louis wants to come home,” he stutters out, shaking his head. “He wants -- but she can’t know, not -- not yet, she can’t -- Mum, she can’t know.”

“Then I’ll take her to Gemma’s now. We can figure this out, baby.”

“But what will you say? She can’t know something’s wrong.”

“I’ll figure it out, don’t you worry about it. I’ll send Liam to come and take you home. Me and Mads will be gone before you get here, okay? But if you need me, if you want my help in anything, I can come right back home.”

This is all progressing faster than Harry would like it to, so he doesn’t even know what to say or think. “I don’t even know,” he gets out, because he doesn’t. He doesn’t know anything anymore. 

“You don’t have to have anything figured out right now.”

She hangs up about a minute later, promising to get everything settled for them. He holds the phone tightly in his hands, nearly as tight as Louis’ hold on his shoulder. Harry leans towards him, blindly reaching, and Louis meets him halfway, pulling him close. That helps, at least. The closeness between them. It’s what he needs right now. Harry cries into his chest, and Louis cries into his shoulder, and it’s far too quick before his phone is lighting up with a call from Liam. Thankfully, Louis answers it. Maybe he realized rushing Harry into talking about this wasn’t a good decision. 

“Yeah. . . No. No. We can just meet you in the parking lot. . . Yes, it’s fine. I don’t care. . . That’s a dumb question. We’ll see you in a minute, alright?” Louis hangs up the phone and hands it back to Harry before standing, and Harry can’t bring himself to do the same. He watches Louis: he looks lost, for a second, and then he slowly starts to collect Jack’s things and put them in the bag. Harry feels guilty for not doing anything, but he can’t. He just can’t. 

Louis pauses from where he’s crouched by the bag. He stays still for a few seconds before he says, voice low, “How the hell are we going to do this?”

Harry swallows and wipes his cheeks with his sleeves. His skin is starting to feel raw from doing that so much. “I don’t know,” he admits roughly. But then guilt takes back over him -- and _why_ does he feel so fucking _guilty?_ \-- and he adds, “Together.”

“But we’re not together,” Louis says. “One of us is gone now.”

And then Harry is back to crying, and Louis kisses his forehead before heading to the bathroom. Harry can’t do this; already, he’s decided there’s no way he can get through this. It just doesn’t seem possible. 

When he hears the toilet flush, he forces himself to stand. He grabs the bag off the ground, puts the stuffed bear in it so he doesn’t get lost, and puts the bag on his shoulder. He’s not ready to go home, but he’s not ready to deny Louis of what he needs, either. 

They leave the room, and it has no right to hurt so bad. But that’s where they spent their last moments together, and now they just have to leave like that doesn’t matter. Nurses will come in with a new bed and a new patient and clean up the last traces of their son. Just like those surgeons did an hour ago when they washed his blood off them. 

Harry grabs Louis’ hand firmly, not liking that he didn’t grab his first. 

The cold night air feels brutal, and Louis presses closer to him as they walk to Liam’s car. It’s parked in the front and Liam’s standing outside it, so they find it quite quickly. 

“Hey,” Liam says gently to the both of them. Louis nods, wiping at his eyes, before grabbing the bag from Harry and getting into the backseat. Harry tries to be as brave as Louis right now, but it doesn’t work and he doesn’t fight the urge to be coddled by Liam. Liam holds him and rubs his back and whispers to him a million words that don’t make anything better. There’s so many things Harry wants to say right now, but he can’t, they’re all stuck in his throat, so he just cries some more. 

“If you need anything, mate, just let me know,” Liam tells him, and Harry nods into his shoulder. His whole face aches from crying so much at this point. For something they knew was coming, he was completely unprepared. 

“I don’t like leaving him here,” Harry says, and it sounds less like words and more of a whimper. Liam shushes him. 

“We can worry about funeral arrangements tomorrow, okay? He’s okay here. They’ll take care of him.”

“But they didn’t,” Harry protests weakly. “ _We_ didn’t.”

Liam’s assurance that that isn’t true doesn’t mean anything, and he doesn’t like Louis being alone in the car right now, so Harry pulls away and heads around to the passenger’s seat. Louis reaches out to brush his fingers over the back of his neck, and Harry turns and offers his hand out, which Louis accepts. 

There’s a car seat in the backseat next to Louis, because Liam still has two kids at home. It leaves a hole in Harry’s stomach, and he tries not to think about it. (It’s impossible not to.)

-

Cooper excitedly greats them at the door, and it’s a punch to the gut that leaves Harry breathless. He’d cry, but he’s pretty sure he physically can’t anymore. Instead, he sinks to the floor to pet him, silently apologizing for not being able to bring Jack home to him. Louis lingers by the doorway, and Harry thinks that means he doesn’t want to be far from him, so Harry doesn’t spend long with Cooper before standing back up. They stare out into the living room, a place that suddenly feels foreign. 

His feet will never run across the rug again, Cooper won’t ever get to race after him, Jack’s toys will never be splayed out on the ground again, they’ll have to play games without him, they’ll have to do everything without him, he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s -- 

“I thought he was going to be okay,” Louis whispers. His voice, or maybe it’s the words, make Harry flinch, and he swallows thickly. 

“Me too.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this soon.” 

“I know.”

Cooper licks at his hand, and Harry slides it over Cooper’s head. None of this fair, not for anyone but certainly not for Jack. He was four, he barely had a life, he was too young and too special to have to be referred to as _was_ now. And Harry shouldn’t have been sleeping, he shouldn’t have been; he let his guard down, and he paid the price for it. Maybe if he had been awake, he would have noticed something was wrong sooner, maybe if they had chosen the afternoon surgery instead, maybe if Harry hadn’t told him everything was going to be okay. 

Louis is the first to step forward. The first step is hesitant, and so is the next, but after a moment he pushes through it and walks towards the stairs, the hospital bag held tightly to his stomach. Harry should follow after him, he really should, but he can’t. He just can’t. 

Cooper licks at his hand again, and Harry lowers himself back to the floor. 

_I promised him another dog_ , Harry thinks as he tries and fails to pour all his focus onto Cooper. He pets his back, his head, his cheeks, his ears, and he’s pretty sure it’s just making him sadder because this is _Jack’s_ dog and it always has been, but Jack’s gone and Jack loved Cooper and he’d want him to be bloody pet, so Harry is going to do that for him. He has to -- God, he feels nauseous. Cooper licks his face, and Harry pulls away, at first, and then he stops caring and lets Cooper lick over his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he cries, petting Cooper’s neck firmly. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

And he doesn’t know who he’s apologizing to or for what, but he does it anyway. Surely, he has something to apologize for if this is happening tonight. Why tonight? Why two weeks before Jack’s favorite holiday? He was going to dress up as the cowardly lion and Madison was going to be Dorothy because they wouldn’t let her convince them that she wouldn’t get green face paint everywhere to be the witch. They were going to Gemma’s house for the Halloween party, and Jack was beyond excited about it because he loved to dress up and that would also mean he got to see her dogs. And now he’s just gone, and now they’re supposed to simply accept that, and Harry doesn’t know what to fucking do. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he wants to ignore it. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now, and he’s suddenly so angry, and Louis is upstairs, by himself, and Harry’s letting him be alone because he’s so lost and he doesn’t know how to do this. But it’s his sister, and Madison is at her house right now, and Harry assumes the worst -- Madison must’ve figured it out, or maybe she’s just being fussy, or maybe she’s fucking gone, too. 

Or maybe he does want to talk to someone and he won’t let himself admit it, because his husband is upstairs by himself and Harry doesn’t plan on getting off the floor anytime soon. 

“What?” he asks when he answers the phone. Gemma doesn’t say anything right away, and Harry drops his head to rest on Cooper’s neck. Cooper’s a good dog, so he lays down in front of Harry, his head against his knee, and Harry follows him down to set his head on his back instead. “Is Madison okay?”

“Yes,” Gemma says, her voice shaky. She sniffles. “Yes, she’s fine, she’s asleep, but -- Haz. I’m so, so sorry.”

“What did Mum tell her? I don’t want her to know yet.”

“We said that I was baking cookies and my kids were too young to help. I don’t know, she bought it. She was just happy she got to be up late, even though she crashed on the couch as soon as she got here.”

Gemma’s kids are one, three and four, born four months after the twins, and they’re happy and healthy, and her family is together, they’re complete, while Harry’s has a giant fucking hole in it now. 

“I’m here for you to talk to,” she says softly. “Louis, too. I understand if you’re not ready to talk to anyone yet, but I wanted to let you know that, the moment you are, I’m here.”

Harry is a second away from yelling at her, so he doesn’t know how that turns into him crying, “I don’t like him being there. At the hospital. I don’t want him there.”

“Okay, that’s okay. Have you and Louis discussed where you want his funeral to be held?”

Harry grips onto Cooper’s collar as he snaps, “No, because we weren’t planning on losing him so fucking suddenly. We weren’t -- it wasn’t supposed to happen right now, God forbid we didn’t discuss his bloody funeral arrangements yet.”

He startles when a hand touches his shoulder. It’s Louis, and he silently crouches down behind Harry, reaching past him to pet Cooper, too. Harry closes his eyes and sets his head back down on Cooper’s back. It’s too hard to see how devastated Louis looks. 

“Me and your mum talked about it once,” Louis whispers to him. “Just the one time. She said there was this nice place in North London.” His voice is wrecked, doesn’t even sound like his own. His hand moves to stroke Harry’s hair, but Harry moves away from it. Louis needs to be comforted, too, he can’t be so fucking selfish. He sits up again, this time moving to scoot next to Louis and set his head on his shoulder, his hand on his thigh. 

“Louis says to ask Mum,” Harry says. He’s exhausted, suddenly, which makes him feel even more guilty and selfish than he already does. “There’s one in North London, I guess. Just -- I don’t care. I really don’t. I just want him out of that bloody hospital.”

“Okay,” Gemma says. “I’ll talk to her now. We’ll get it sorted, Harry.”

“I don’t want him there,” Harry finds himself repeating, because he really, really doesn’t. He can’t stand the idea of that. 

“He doesn’t have to be there if you don’t want him to be. I can probably get him moved tomorrow, alright? Tomorrow morning if I make a fuss, even. I’ll get it sorted, I promise.”

A baby wails faintly in the background, and Gemma curses quietly. There’s a distant voice telling her not to worry about it, that he’ll get it. Gemma’s husband, probably. Scott. 

“You can go,” Harry says, and he clears his throat. “I have to -- I don’t know. There’s stuff we probably should do. I don’t know, but you can go.”

“I don’t have to.”

“It’s fine,” Harry tells her, a little hotly. “You call me as soon as you can get him somewhere, okay?”

“Yes, of course.”

Harry hangs up a few seconds later. He sits there, staring at Cooper, and he finds himself terrified to look at Louis. And he hates that, he hates that so much, so he turns to look at him, at his wet eyes and red nose and quivering lip. He leans forward to kiss him, and it feels wrong and disgusting but also necessary. He pulls back, and Louis sets his forehead against Harry’s.

“We told him it’d be okay,” Louis whispers, and Harry closes his eyes. 

“We had to.”

“But we lied.”

Harry swallows, hard. “We didn’t mean to. It wasn’t supposed to be a lie.”

Cooper lets out a low whine, and they pull away from each other to look at him. Cooper’s smart, always has been, and he can read them. Their emotions. He must know something’s wrong, too. Louis pets his head. 

“I’ll let him out for the night,” Louis says, standing up. Cooper stands, too, and Harry doesn’t. He can’t. But Louis looks down at him tiredly and says, “You can’t stay on the floor forever, come on.”

Harry probably could, but he doesn’t want to be a burden, so he slowly pulls himself up off the ground. Louis nods at him before taking Cooper outside, and Harry stays put until they come back. They stare at each other from across the room, both of them unsure of where they go from here.

“I think I’m just going to go lay down,” Louis tells him. His cheeks are puffy from crying so much and wiping at them a lot, like he does now. “We can -- tomorrow. I can’t do anything more tonight.”

Harry nods and mumbles out, “Okay,” before he follows Louis up the stairs, the stairs Louis didn’t want the kids going up and down so they wouldn’t get hurt and one of them got hurt anyway. Louis goes to the bathroom, so Harry follows. He feels so lost, and he’s sure Louis does, too, but he’s doing a better job at pushing through it, and Harry wants someone to blindly follow. As Harry pees, Louis brushes his teeth. And then they switch places, and Harry feels so sick that he gags as soon as he puts the toothbrush in his mouth, so he abandons that and instead swishes some water around his mouth. It doesn’t matter if his teeth are clean or not. Louis bumps into him gently so he has room to wash his hands -- Harry never did get around to having someone install an extra sink in here -- and Harry watches him, every part of him hurting in ways he didn’t think were possible. It’s everywhere, a deep, tight sadness that’s inescapable. 

As Louis dries his hands, Harry asks, “Can I,” he licks his lips nervously, “Can I sleep in his bed?”

Louis glances at him. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

“I don’t know. If you -- if you don’t want me to mess anything up, I won’t go in there. I don’t have to, if you want to -- to leave things where he put them.”

His hands are shaking again, and his eyes are getting wet all over again, and his chest hurts so badly that he thinks something might be wrong. Louis stares at him for a minute, maybe more, before he shakes his head. 

“He liked it when we slept in bed with him,” he says, and his chest is heaving, too. “You can -- go ahead, it’s okay.”

“Will you come with me?” Harry asks. His bottom lip quivers, so he sinks his teeth into it as he watches Louis hesitate. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Harry nods. When he blinks, tears come rushing from his eyes, but he wipes them away. “Okay,” he says. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Louis whispers, and they reach for each other at the same time. They touch each other gently and desperately, and Harry doesn’t want to let go but he also doesn’t want to be awake right now, he just wants to sleep, he just wants to go to sleep. Tomorrow they’ll handle the harder things, like funeral arrangements and Madison and how the fuck they’re going to get through this, but tonight -- Harry’s at his limit. 

They separate in the hallway, Harry going one way and Louis going another. 

When Harry gets to Jack’s room, he closes his eyes and makes his way to the bed with them tightly shut. He doesn’t want to see anything, see all of his son’s things that he’ll never get to touch again. All he wants is his bed, which he finds when his knees bump into it. He climbs into it, and even with his eyes shut, he can see every different rabbit on the duvet. It’s a light blue blanket with bunnies dressed in all sorts of outfits, because Jack liked the one with the red bowtie. Madison’s are covered in stars, but Jack wanted the bunnies. 

For a second, he thinks he’ll actually be able to fall asleep. He sets his head on the pillow, pulls the blanket over his shoulder, and thinks he can do it. And then Cooper comes into the room and hops into bed with him, and he sets his head on the pillow beside Harry, and Harry sobs all over again. 

It’s not even been a minute before Louis is climbing behind him in bed, too, curling his body around Harry’s. He’s crying, too, and everything hurts, and Harry just needs to fall asleep so he can stop thinking. So he can stop hurting. 

“I miss him already,” Louis sobs out, and Harry lets out a choked sound. He does, too, so much, so much, and he’ll never get to stop missing him, never. He’ll always be gone, always be missed. Harry can’t accept that, but he doesn’t have a choice. This is their life now. 

-

At eight-fifteen, Gemma calls him. 

Harry’s phone is still in his back pocket; he never changed his clothes and he never took it out. So, when it vibrates with a call, it wakes them both up. Harry jolts up to grab it, his mind immediately back into panic-mode (although, really, he already got the worst news he could ever receive, so maybe he should give up on worrying so much). 

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Gemma says. “I know it’s early, and I’m sorry if you were sleeping. The funeral home Mum was talking about opened at eight, though, and I called them first thing. They’re already on their way to pick up -- to pick him up from the hospital.”

She won’t even say his name. 

“Give me their number so I can call to make sure he gets there okay,” he says, like it matters at this point, like he’ll ever be okay again. 

“Yes, of course. They said it will take about a half hour, and that you have to, like, call the hospital to give them permission to release him. They might make you come down in person to sign some things, they might not, the people said it just depends on the hospital’s policy.”

Louis’ already grabbing for his phone and getting out of bed. Cooper picks his head up, but Harry puts a hand on him, silently asking him to stay. 

“Okay,” Harry says. “Thanks. I’ll, um. I don’t know.”

“Mum will do the whole thing if you want her to,” Gemma says softly. “She’s already looking into all sorts of options. If you don’t want to do it yourselves, which is totally okay, just tell Mum what you want. Like, what kind of service.”

It seems cruel to even have to _think_ about all of this right now. His kid just died and now they have to figure out what to do with the body. _Literally_. That’s so fucked up. But planning a funeral for their son when he was still alive is even more fucked up. What would they have done, picked out what fucking flowers they wanted when Jack was in the other room playing with his sister? Is that what they were supposed to do?

“I’ll have to talk to Louis, I don’t -- I don’t know.”

“That’s fine. Take your time.”

Harry closes his eyes and starts to bite on his thumbnail. “Is Maddie awake?”

“Yeah. The baby woke her up. She’s out with Charlie in the backyard right now.”

“You have to watch them,” Harry says, meaner than he intends, but the last thing he needs is Madison getting hurt, too. 

“Scott and Mum are out with them. I’m watching Morgan and Pete inside. We have everything covered here, try not to worry about it, okay?”

Harry lets out a deep breath. “Yeah, fine. Just text me that number, okay? I need to know he got there alright.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll text it to you right now. Love you, Haz.”

He hangs up after mumbling that he loves her, too, and then he sits in bed. Jack’s things are everywhere, they’re _everywhere,_ and it all hurts. It all hurts so much. And he has a whole day ahead of him of more pain, and he doesn’t want to deal with all of this. He wants to sleep all day or get wasted, one of the two. 

Louis comes back into the room a few minutes later. “I called them and gave them permission to release them to the funeral home. I had to sign some stuff, like, virtually. But it’s taken care of.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

They stare at each other, and it’s unfamiliar. They don’t know how to talk to each other right now. Anybody, really, but anybody includes each other, and that’s not normal. Harry doesn’t have a clue on what to say or feel or even think. 

“I’m gonna let Cooper out, I guess,” Harry mumbles, pulling himself out of bed. Cooper follows him, and Harry goes outside to let him use the bathroom. As he does, Harry sits on the swing, trying to keep his mind free of any memories of Jack out in the backyard. He just wants to forget it all while remembering every tiny little detail, and he thinks he should be able to have both. 

Every part of him aches. His face is swollen and sticky, his eyes dry, his nose burning. His throat feels like he’s been screaming for hours, and his chest is still cracking, and his head is still hurting. Inside and out, everything hurts. 

He sits outside with Cooper longer than he means to. After about a half hour, he calls the funeral home, and they confirm that Jack has been brought there. They ask more about what he wants, and Harry tells him that he’s not ready to think about that yet, and they’re understanding. They should be. Once he’s off the phone, he sits there thinking for nearly twenty minutes that he should go back inside. That’s all he lets himself think: _I should really go back inside. I should._

He probably would have been out there for hours if it wasn’t for Louis sliding open the door and telling him that it’s too cold outside. When Harry doesn’t respond right away, Louis sighs and tells him to at least wear a coat. 

“No,” he says quietly, and he stands up. “I’ll come in, sorry.” Because Louis’ right, he’s freezing, and it feels sort of nice. It’s a distraction, kind of, a physical ache that he understands, and then he just feels fucking guilty because he made Louis worry about him when they shouldn’t need to deal with that right now. 

“I called the people,” Harry says, and his voice is still hoarse. He sits at the kitchen table and tries not to think about sitting here and eating with Jack. Or coloring or playing with clay or legos -- he doesn’t think about it. Louis sits across from him, and Harry realizes he should probably continue. “They, um. He got there alright, I guess. They said to call them back when we have our. . . wishes figured out.”

Louis leans back into his seat and looks down at the table. “I don’t want it to be an open-casket,” he says firmly, like if Harry were to disagree, there would be issues. So Harry doesn’t, he just bites down on his lip and nods. It would probably be too confusing for Madison, anyway. 

“I think I’d like a traditional service,” Harry says, and he doesn’t know why he’s scared, like Louis is about to snap at him or something. He feels so vulnerable right now, so exposed, to the point that he doesn’t even want Louis to see. “Like, um. I know we aren’t religious, but I think -- I don’t know.”

“Say what you want,” Louis says sharply, and then he briefly closes his eyes. “This is for us, alright? We need to do whatever -- whatever we need to do that will make us cope with this. If you think some stupid preacher talking about God is what you need, then fine. If I don’t like something, I’ll tell you.”

“I just can’t even picture it,” Harry admits quietly. He feel so dumb, for no reason. Louis won’t judge him, and he’s feeling the exact same thing Harry is. If Harry already feels alone. . . 

“The funeral? Me neither. Sort of feel like saying we won’t have one, but.”

“But we’d regret it,” Harry finishes, nodding. Because he feels the same way: not a single part of him wants to go to and have a funeral, to dress up in a suit and find a dress for Madison, to stand and listen to people cry around him. None of that sounds like something he wants, but it’s something he needs. Something they all need. 

“We should’ve had this figured out before,” Louis says, shaking his head. And that digs something up in Harry; it’s like he can physically feel the pain explode in his stomach and travel up his throat. 

“I thought he was going to be okay,” he sobs, and he covers his face with his hands, still feeling incredibly vulnerable. “I thought -- I told myself it was okay to start believing that he’d be fine, and then he died the same night, I -- I did this, it feels like I did this, I jinxed it, I must’ve, because he was fine, and then wasn’t, and then -- ”

“Do not start that,” Louis says, and his voice is sharp again, and it’s just not right, none of this feels right, it’s all wrong, like there’s a right way to do this and they’re already fucking it up and it’s not even been ten hours yet. 

“Harry,” Louis says sternly. “He had a stroke. It was a complication from the surgery. His health was in no way related to what any of us were thinking. Don’t start blaming yourself, and I mean it, because you won’t be able to stop.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I’m not doing this right,” Harry snaps, throwing his hands out. “I’m sorry that I’m handling this wrong, apparently, because you already seem two steps ahead of me, and you keep -- ” but he doesn’t want to yell, he really doesn’t, so he goes back to crying into his hands and focusing on the hurt.

Louis doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t yell back or apologize or comfort him or leave. He just sits there, watching Harry cry, and Harry is too scared to move his hands from his face. His biggest fear after Jack dying is losing Louis because of it, and every tiny thing that makes him feel like that might come true makes loud, ear-piercing alarms go off in his head, because he can’t lose Louis and he can’t do any of this without him and he already feels so far away, somehow.

When he hears Louis sniffle, it’s about the best thing in the world, somehow. He takes his hands from his face and sees that Louis’ crying, too, and that’s probably why he didn’t say anything, and Harry feels a bit better but so much worse because their son just died and he already caused a fight. 

“I’m sorry,” he gets out, wiping at his face harder than necessary. “I can’t -- I don’t know how to do this.”

“By not blaming yourself for a fucking stroke,” Louis says, voice croaky, and he wipes his face, too. He shakes his head, swallows, and balls his hands into fists. “We’ll have a religious funeral service, I don’t care. And then we’ll bury him. . .” he looks lost. 

“My family all gets buried in the same place,” he tells him. “They have for generations. Remember that cemetery, the funeral you came with me for when my great grandmother died?”

Louis just nods. 

“We can do it there,” Harry says, but he’s scared again, because that’s a very permanent decision and he doesn’t want to mess it up. “Or -- or not, I don’t know. It can be anywhere.”

“There’s fine. I don’t -- fine, yeah. If it’s a family thing, it makes sense.”

“But it doesn’t have to be a thing for _our_ family,” Harry stresses, and Louis shakes his head. 

“That means your mum is going to be buried there, so you’ll want to be buried there, so no, yes, I want Jack there, too.”

Harry wipes at his nose. “Okay. And a -- do we want a memorial service? If we wanted to, we could do it at my mum’s house, probably. I don’t -- have you even told your mum yet, Louis?” 

It dawns on him suddenly that no, Louis hasn’t. Louis’ eyes dart away, and Harry frowns. 

“You don’t have to,” he says quickly. “Not until you’re ready, just -- you need her. For these sorts of things, you always talk to her. I think you should call her.”

“Your mum’s house,” Louis says. “The one in Knightsbridge or Kensington?”

Harry blinks, debating if he should push him or not. He decides not to. “I think she keeps up with the one in Chelsea the most. Like, I think she went there last week to tidy things up. She’d probably prefer it done there. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Chelsea’s fine,” Louis says, nodding. “And -- I heard Gemma earlier. Your mum -- she’d be fine with doing everything else?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. If we don’t want to, she will.”

“Okay,” Louis says, standing. He pushes his chair in before going to a cupboard and opening it. “You should call her now,” he says, pulling out an expensive bottle of whiskey. “So we can get that going and won’t have to talk to anyone else today.”

Harry does as he’s told, partly because Louis told him to and partly because he wants to be so inebriated that his brain doesn’t remember enough words to string together thoughts with. It’s boldly irresponsible and unhealthy, but it’s also one of the only nights they’ll be able to grieve in this form, because Madison is bound to start getting suspicious here shortly. 

He talks to his mum briefly, explaining to her what they’ve decided, and when she asks for the hundredth time if he is doing okay, Harry sighs. “No. Of course not. But me and Louis are going to get drunk, I think, and I think that’ll make me feel a bit better.”

“It won’t,” Anne says sadly, and Harry shrugs. 

“It has to.”

He tells her he has to go, because Louis’ finally managed to open the bottle and take out glasses. It’s so stupid, drinking like this, but Harry doesn’t even care. He doesn’t care. 

-

Drinking was supposed to make things quieter, and it worked, to an extent. He got plenty drunk with Louis right behind him, so drunk that Harry lost pieces of the night. After Louis started slurring on and on about Madison, about how this is all going to traumatize her, the night started to disappear. Harry doesn’t remember who cut them off when, but surely one of them decided enough was enough, because the glasses are in the sink and the whiskey is back in the cabinet and they woke up in bed. In their bed; Harry distinctly remembers being too scared to throw up in Jack’s room. 

Sure, getting drunk at nine in the morning and sleeping the rest of the day away made him feel a little bit better in the moment, but now it’s four o’clock the next morning and he’s standing in the kitchen after vomiting for what felt like forever, and everything feels so much worse. 

This sadness, the hole in his heart, the pressure in his chest -- it’s never going to go away. And he almost doesn’t want it to, because that’s Jack, that’s his son clinging to him, begging to be remembered, and Harry can’t take it, but he doesn’t want to lose it, either. Gemma wouldn’t even say his name on the phone, and that’s -- Harry can’t ever let him be forgotten. 

As he grips the countertop, he debates going back to bed. Being conscious right now is too goddamn demanding, and if he can sleep, then he should sleep. Before he goes, he grabs one of the glasses out of the sink, fills it back up with more whiskey, and throws it back as if he wasn’t thinking two minutes ago that he was never going to do that again. 

He drags himself back upstairs, the stairs Jack will never scale with them watching him nervously again, and when he gets to the top step, he hears Louis talking. To Cooper, he thinks, until he gets to the doorway and Louis’ on the phone. With his mum, probably, so Harry gives him a short nod before turning back around, not wanting to disrupt his privacy. Harry feels like every part of him has been invaded, every cell of his body being peeled back to be gawked at, so if he were Louis, he’d want privacy, and that’s what he gives him.

He goes to the second bathroom upstairs, the one the kids use, and sits on the ledge of the bath with the sink’s water running so he can’t hear Louis talk. He’s still drunk, he realizes, so he lowers himself to the ground in an attempt to avoid losing his balance and smashing his head against something. 

Jack was not a fan of bath time. Neither was Madison, honestly. But Jack didn’t like it because he liked staying dirty, and Madison hates it because she hates her hair being brushed, and now Harry has to talk about his children in different tenses. On the back of the door, the kids’ robes are hung up, these soft, funny-looking things that have animals on the hoods, Madison’s a frog and Jack’s a puppy, and Jack is never going to wear it ever again. It was his favorite part of bath time, the only part he liked, and now it’s going to forever remain unused. Probably won’t even be touched again. 

After five or so minutes, he gets himself off the ground because he’s so tired of thinking and Louis is probably done. It only takes a minute to explain what happened. And Harry’s right; Louis’ lying in bed, crying loudly, the phone abandoned on the table. Harry crawls back into bed, his breath tasting like vomit and whiskey, and he pulls Louis into his arms and lets him cry. He doesn’t say anything because nothing needs to be said, and he falls asleep a few minutes after Louis does. 

It’s a restless sleep, one of those sleeps where he keeps waking up just as he’s fallen asleep, a constant battle. Once he finally does push his way into sleep for good, he has dreams of Jack and Madison that would have been considered good if it weren’t for the fact that he’s now gone. Nothing is ever going to be considered good again. 

When he wakes up for good at eight, it’s to a noisy creek on the steps. Harry jolts up, thinking it’s one of the kids getting up in the middle of the night. And then his eyes get wet because he technically only has one kid now, and then they leak because he checks the clock and realizes it’s been a whole day of Jack being dead now. Then, he turns and realizes Louis is gone, so Harry wipes his cheeks, stands up, and follows the noise. 

His mum is in the hallway, and as soon as he sees her, it hits him like a blow and he’s crying again because he’s never going to be able to stop. She comes to him and hugs him tight, she pets his hair, she squeezes his shoulders, she does everything she normally does that makes him feel better, and it doesn’t work, none of it works, because she can’t fix this. Nobody can. 

“You need to eat,” she says, after _we’ll get through this_ and _you still have Louis and Madison_ and _I’ll always be here for you_. His stomach rolls at the idea of food, and she shushes his whine. “It’ll make you feel less sick, come on, baby. Louis’ eating his toast, and you can do the same.”

She guides him down the stairs and to the kitchen like he wouldn’t be able to make it there himself, which is probably a fair assessment. At the table, Louis’ eating his piece of toast just like she said, and there’s another plate beside him that’s supposed to be for Harry. It’s just a piece of jam and toast with a cup of tea, but it feels like the world’s biggest chore right about now. He sits down, anyway, knowing that he needs to eat something. He didn’t eat anything yesterday, and neither did Louis. And then they got wasted. That wasn’t particularly smart. 

Anne sits down, too, with a cup of coffee in front of her, and it’s almost as clear as it is on Louis that she’s been crying. Jack was part of her daily life, too, her family, her grandson. Harry didn’t even think about how anyone else was dealing with this. Surely, word has gotten around by now. That’s why Harry hasn’t checked his phone, and he assumes Louis hasn’t much, either. 

He should say something to Louis, at least a good morning, but nothing seems appropriate. Instead, he wordlessly grabs for Louis’ hand. It’s sticky with jam, and his skin is cold. He squeezes Harry’s hand without looking up. 

After Harry and Louis have both finished their toast, there’s a few minutes of silence before Anne goes to the fridge and fixes them a plate of ham and cheese and crackers. Either she was waiting to see if they’d get sick, or she’s nervous and doesn’t know what to do with herself. The toast has already relieved some of Harry’s stomach cramps, though, so he grabs for a cracker. 

“Like I told Louis earlier,” Anne starts as she sits back down. She rests her hand on his shoulder. “I can be here as much or as little as you want me to be. If you just need someone to check on you and fix you meals, I can do that, or I can stay here permanently like I was before. It’s up to you two.”

“The plan was that you’d move out when Jack was gone,” Harry says, and as he says it, he regrets it. Because he can’t even remember what it looks like to wake up in the morning and be a parent, and Louis probably feels the same way. His mum can help, and he wants her to. 

“Plans change,” Anne says softly. Harry nods once before looking to Louis, who’s still looking down at the table. Harry squeezes his hand. 

“I wouldn’t mind it,” he says. 

“It’d be good for Madison, too,” Louis agrees. “To not have so many things changing at once.”

“How is she?” Harry asks quietly, a little guilty for that not being the first thing he asked. Their daughter is still here, and they’ve sent her away. It doesn’t make much sense, but it’s -- Harry can’t take that right now. At all. 

Anne moves her hand to rest on Harry’s bicep, and she squeezes. “She’s doing fine. Doesn’t like the baby much, though.”

“But she doesn’t know anything, right?” Harry asks, making sure, and Anne nods. 

“Not a thing.”

A silence falls over them, then, and it’s not a comfortable one. Nothing will ever feel comfortable again, probably. How could it, when their main source of comfort, the kids, has been severed in two? But the silence is unnecessary; there’s so many things they should ask about. The funeral, first of all. He has no clue where she is in the planning of it, if she’s started at all. And he should ask her if she’s okay, because they asked her to be here for them these last few years and she has been, she’s given up so much for them, and Harry can’t even ask her if she’s doing alright. He feels _so much_ , it makes sense why he has so little to say. 

Louis breaks the silence seven minutes later -- Harry’s staring at the clock, begging it to go faster. He’s finished his tea and gone after Harry’s, which is fine because he didn’t really want it anyway. “Has she asked about him?” is what he says, and Harry wishes he hadn’t, because he can’t take hearing the answer. 

Anne’s response is hesitant. “Of course. She wants to -- to visit him. I’ve told her that he’s very sleepy and needs quiet time, but she’s. . . It’s alright, if you need more time.”

“We can’t let her figure it out on her own,” Louis says, shaking his head. He lets go of Harry’s hand, and it hurts far more than it should. He watches Louis wrap his hands around the mug, and it feels like betrayal. To combat it, to quiet the pain, Harry nudges his foot against Louis’, and Louis hooks his ankle over Harry’s. 

“She’s smart,” Louis continues. “If we wait too long, we risk her realizing that something’s wrong.”

“We have a little while before that happens,” Anne tells them, and she sounds so sure, so certain, that Harry’s nerves are settled by her words. But then Louis’ shaking his head again and they flare right back up. 

“When have we ever sent her away like this? Absolutely never. She’s not stupid, she’ll figure it out. And I think it’ll go a lot smoother if she’s not already scared before we tell her.”

“How do we even do that?” Harry asks sharply, because he wanted to spend a few minutes comforted by his mum’s words. He just needs a few minutes of believing that everything’s going to be fine. 

“I don’t know,” Louis says, matching his tone. “But just because we don’t know how to do it, that doesn’t mean we don’t have to.” 

“Alright, alright,” Anne intervenes, voice soft. She rubs her hand over Harry’s arm, and he crumples, a bit, hunching over in on himself. “Louis’ right, we do have to do this, but we don’t have to do it today. Tomorrow might be best, but we can talk about this. About how we go about doing this. None of us have had to do this before, and there’s no wrong way to do it, alright?”

Harry lifts his head to make eye contact with Louis, and they share a small nod. Harry doesn’t know what it means, but it seems like it’s something important. 

“She understands death,” Anne continues, “so we don’t have to deal with that obstacle. I talked them through it when the neighbor’s cat died, remember? And she handled it well. She understood.”

But the neighbor’s cat is a lot different than her twin brother. They all know that, so he doesn’t say it out loud. 

“We can tell her that he got very sick, and the doctors tried their best, but it didn’t work and it was painless,” Louis says, and he sounds distant, like he isn’t really here. “I think we’ve got to make it sound as least scary as we can.”

“She’ll just want to be held,” Harry whispers, nodding. “We can do that. We know how to do that.”

They decide that they’ll do it tomorrow morning. That, at nine o’clock when the kids usually wake up, Anne will take her home and they’ll tell her then. Tomorrow seems so far very away, so it’s less suffocating. Today is their day to mourn, to figure this out the best they can before they have to explain it to someone else and teach them the way to grieve. They have to show her that everything’s going to be okay, and to do that, they have to believe it themselves. 

-

Tonight, they sit outside. In the dark, the string of lights turned off, and with Cooper by their feet. He knows something’s wrong, just like Harry thought he would. Their sadness is wearing off on Cooper, and he hopes to God the same thing doesn’t happen with Madison. They have to be strong for someone else in their weakest moment, and that’s. . .

Anne went home an hour after breakfast, but not before making them dinner and telling them that her home in Chelsea is being prepared for the memorial service and that she’ll be sending them information as she gets it. She had asked them to call Madison to say goodnight, if they could manage it, but neither of them even considered it. 

Harry and Louis don’t speak or hold hands or hook their ankles together. They don’t cuddle into each other or run their fingers through the other’s hair. They don’t cry, because silent tears don’t count, not when they’ve both heard how loud it can get. They just sit, nothing attaching them aside from the blanket draped over both their laps and the trauma they’ve now officially endured. Harry stares into the background, the black emptiness, and Louis keeps his eyes closed. 

For two hours, they just sit there. For two hours, they fail each other, because surely, there’s something they could have been said. No matter if it was hard or wrong or awkward, they could have said something. And they didn’t, they didn’t say a thing for two whole hours, even though the silence and lack of distraction was worse than anything they ever could have said to each other. And when they decide to go inside, to go to bed, that decision isn’t spoken aloud. Louis just stands up and leaves, although he holds the door open for Harry. That’s it. 

They get ready for bed, Harry manages to brush his teeth tonight, and then they head to Jack’s room. Again, the decision is made without conversation. Harry’s the little spoon tonight, and Louis’ arms are strong around him, protective. They cuddle into each other, and Harry cuddles into Cooper, and he doesn’t realize how much the silence was bothering him until Louis speaks and it elicits a reaction so strong that it’s physical. His heart stutters and his chest tightens and he squeezes his eyes shut, almost like it hurts. 

“He was such a good boy,” Louis says, and Harry nods, sniffing quietly. 

“He was. And he deserved so much more than he got.”

Tears pool his eyes, and he doesn’t even process it anymore because of how normal it’s already becoming. 

“I just wish he didn’t die in a fucking hospital,” Harry says, and it doesn’t sound like him, it doesn’t sound like anything. But it does _feel_ good, talking about this. Acknowledging it instead of drowning it silence. Because that won’t work, it won’t ever work; ignoring it isn’t an option. Harry wishes it was, but it isn’t. 

Louis presses closer, his arms becoming tighter. “I keep thinking, like. At least we have Madison. And it sounds so -- so wrong, like she’s just there to lessen the hurt or something. Or that it makes it any better, because it doesn’t. It’s making me feel so fucking guilty.”

So Louis is feeling guilt, too. It’s not just Harry. 

“I know,” he whispers. “Me too. But I think, like. I think it’s normal to think that. To remind ourselves of what we still have.”

“It feels like we have nothing. Like there’s nothing left at all.”

“Like there’s no point,” Harry adds. “Like we lost our purpose. Because we did, he was -- he was. . . he was everything, Louis.”

Not in the sense that he was the only thing, but he _was_ everything. He was what Harry thought about all day, stressed over, cried over, he’s what kept Harry motivated and in a good mood. And now that’s just gone, that tether has been split, so of course they feel lost. There’s nothing left to hold onto anymore. 

“I know,” Louis whispers, his breath warm against the back of Harry’s neck. “I know.”

-

Madison is excited to see them. She trips over her too-big slippers she must’ve nicked from Gemma as she stumbles over to them, arms extended, wanting to be picked up. For a horrible moment, Harry and Louis just stare at her, uncertain. Louis is the one to step forward and meets her halfway, picking her up and hugging her tight. 

“Charlie and Morgan said hi,” she tells them, smiling bright. “They aren’t as big as me, Daddy. I was the biggest. Pete’s just a baby. He stinks.”

Harry swears he’s going to pass out, and it must be obvious, because Anne comes to stand next to him and wraps her arm around his waist. “You need to eat,” she says sternly, voice low, and Harry nods, licking his lips nervously. They didn’t touch their dinner last night. 

Madison talks on and on with Louis and Harry commenting tensely in the right spots, and it only takes about four minutes for her to ask about Jack. 

“Aunt Gemma said she’s going to make pumpkin cookies for the party,” she says. “And she said me and Jack can help. Will Jack be home? For the party?”

Louis’ hold on her gives, far more than Harry’s comfortable with. He’s about to step forward to help her to her feet before Louis tightens his hold again. Louis looks to him, petrified, and Harry takes a deep breath. 

“We have to talk about that, Mads,” Harry tells her, as softly as he can while feeling so tense. 

Madison frowns. “About the party?”

“No, not about the party, baby. We have to talk about -- about your brother. About Jack.”

Initially, she’s confused. She doesn’t understand it. She’s just confused; confused about why they’re so serious, why she has to sit down, why they look so sad. She doesn’t start to get upset until Harry repeats Louis’ words from yesterday: there was an accident, the doctors tried their best, but it didn’t work, and he’s dead. Harry’s the one to say it, because right now, he feels almost as protective of Louis as he does Madison, and he can’t force him to say that. He can’t do that to him, so he said it himself, and now he has his daughter’s bright blue eyes that look identical to her brother’s staring at him, horrified. 

It’s a complete mess from there. A painful, heartbreaking mess. She cries, God, does she cry, and she does the only thing she knows how, which is to cling to them and let herself be held. She ends up in Louis’ lap, but Harry’s right behind him, hugging her from behind as Louis hugs her from the front. They hold her and they talk to her and they make promises they shouldn’t just like they did with Jack. It goes on for forever, her crying, her tiny hands clutching onto Louis with everything she has. Harry needs her to be okay, he just needs her to be okay, that’s all he needs, that’s it. 

“You still have us, alright?” Harry tells her, his voice croaky from how hard he’s holding back a sob. “Me and Dad aren’t going anywhere, we’ll always be right here. And we love you so much, baby, so much.”

Once it’s quiet, after Madison’s laying against Louis’ chest, breathing heavily but no longer crying, her fingers kneading Louis’ skin, Harry glances at the clock. It’s been forty-seven minutes since she got home, forty-three since they changed her life forever. He wonders if she’ll remember this moment until the day she dies, or if she’ll block it out forever to protect herself. Harry knows he won’t get that option, that this moment will be burned into his brain for the rest of his life. 

-

It should feel like the hardest part is over, probably. At the very least, there should be some relief, but there isn’t. All Harry feels is nauseating, unbearable pain in every crevice of his body. It’s too much on its own, but paired with Madison’s clear heartache -- he can’t take it. It’s suffocating. So, after a miserable attempt at a normal breakfast that ends with Madison throwing her empty, plastic cup at Louis and storming away, shoving past Harry, he sits in the basement by himself. Going outside is too obvious of a cop-out, so he settles for sinking into the beanbag downstairs, near a pile of board games. He tells himself that it isn’t unfair on Louis because Anne is here now, and she’s the one that went after Madison, anyway. 

He keeps thinking about how happy Jack would have been, getting another dog. That’s all he wanted, really. Another dog. He wasn’t asking for much, and yet he still got nothing. He got ripped away. Now would be a good time to believe in Heaven, because picturing Jack somewhere safe, somewhere in which he’s still alive in some ways, would alleviate some of the pain, but he just can’t. It’s not how his brain operates, no matter how hard he closes his eyes and tries to picture it. He’d lied to himself long enough, anyway. Maybe now will be the time he can finally stop hiding from the truths. 

Before, he thought he had grieved Jack several times over. Now, he hates himself for thinking that, because he had no idea how it would actually feel. It’s like there’s an actual part of him missing, like his insides have been hollowed out, like his body is suffering withdrawals. It’s so painful, _it’s so painful_ , and he doesn’t want to be alone in this pain, which is odd considering he keeps isolating himself. Or maybe he was just sort of hoping Louis would follow him downstairs. 

It doesn’t matter what he hoped for. It never has. 

On top of the stack of board games is an old Gucci shoebox that the kids painted and decorated. There are a lot of beads and a lot of glue-marks where beads have fallen off. On the top is each of their handprints, Jack’s in orange paint and Madison’s in green. It was decorated the day that Jack and Madison declared they needed their own board game box for their own game, which was their version of charades. Harry helped them write down whatever scenarios or characters that they thought were funny onto index cards, and he’s pretty sure they were working on some sort of system that involved dice. It had just been the three of them down here; Anne was out in the garden and Louis was at work. It was just Harry and his kids, all huddled together and covered in paint and giggling over things that didn’t even make sense. And because they’re kids and it was what kids do, after that day, they abandoned that game and made up a new one, and they never got around to playing the old one, and now they’ll never get the chance to. 

There are so many things Harry would do differently, which just fucking sucks because he thought he was doing everything right, then. He knew that Jack was on borrowed time, that it could be any day in a number of different ways, so he took them out for ice cream when he asked and turned on the movies he wanted and let him stay up later than he should’ve. Now, though. Harry wishes they got a second dog. A third and a fourth and a fifth. He wishes they had gone to Disneyland, to Paris, to California. Jack loved the beach, and they only went a handful of times. He should’ve taught Jack as many life skills as he could have, because even if Jack didn’t need them at the time, Harry needed those memories. He needs those memories now. 

Anne comes downstairs about a half hour later, and he wishes she would leave him alone as much as he wishes she would come hold him. She sits next to him on the couch, pulling her legs up next to Harry’s, and lets out a long, deep sigh. 

“She’ll be okay,” she says, and Harry closes his eyes. 

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“No, I do. Because she’s four, Harry. She’s four. She’ll be okay, because kids don’t know there is an option to not be okay. Most of them, anyway. She’ll be devastated for a while, of course, but the only things she needs to get through that are her dads.”

“I should’ve gotten him another dog, Mum.”

“Oh, Harry. It’s -- ”

“No,” he interrupts, opening his eyes to look at her. “He loved dogs. Cooper was all he’d ever think about, and we just didn’t get him another one. Why? We had the money, the space, the time to look after another one. . . It would’ve made his whole fucking day. His whole fucking life, Mum, and I just didn’t get him another one, and when I finally promised I would, he fucking died.”

She frowns at him. It’s a pitying one, and he can’t tell if he hates it or not. “He loved Cooper. That was enough for him.”

Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t want to be told he was enough; he wants someone to be angry with him. “There was this guy,” Harry tells her. “At the hospital. His name was Dimitris. And his brother, he was twenty, he got hit by a car. Hit by a car that was going a hundred and twenty kilometers an hour, and his surgery was going screwy, and he _lived_. He got to live, after all that. While Jack, who was only fucking four, had a perfectly fine, _planned_ surgery, and then he fucking _died_. How is that fair? How is that -- I told that man that they’d both make it out alive, and I fully thought I was lying to him, that his brother was going to die, and he didn’t, but _my_ son did. _My_ son.”

“He was somebody else’s son, too, baby,” Anne tries to explain softly, but Harry doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear that at all.

“I don’t care. It’s not fair.”

“Nobody is saying it is, love. I understand -- ”

“You don’t understand anything, me and Gemma are fucking fine, we’ve -- ”

Anne interrupts him. “I was going to say that I understand that you’re angry, and that’s okay. It’s okay to be angry, it’s okay to think it’s unfair. And it’s okay to want to be alone, but it’s okay to want to be around people, too. Whatever you’re feeling, Harry. . . It’s all okay. There’s no straight path to grieving.”

“I wish there was,” Harry says, frowning. It’d be so much easier, he thinks, if someone said, _okay, this is how you’re going to feel today, and this is what you’re going to do_. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Well,” Anne says carefully. “I can tell you that Louis doesn’t want to be alone right now.”

Harry closes his eyes again. This is all so much, and he keeps thinking that, but then it somehow gets even heavier. “I snapped at him yesterday. Isn’t that awful?”

“He snapped at you, too. He told me. It’s okay. You’re hurting and you’re angry and your whole life just got up-ended. You’re going to snap sometimes, and that’s okay, so long as you two work on it.”

“I don’t want to lose him. I’m scared if -- if we do this wrong, if we don’t get this right, then I’ve lost him, too.”

“He is right upstairs,” she tells him, reaching over to squeeze his ankle. “Go up and make him some tea, and then sit with him. You haven’t lost him, and you won’t. It’s far too soon to think that, baby. You both are just hurting right now, and you’re scared, I get that, but he’s right upstairs.”

He’s so tired. 

“And Madison?” he asks. “Is she alright?”

“I’m going to watch a movie with her when I get back upstairs,” Anne tells him, nodding. “She is upset, but she’s okay. Just a little sensitive at the moment.”

He stands, then, and so does she. They walk up the stairs together, his mum’s hand on his back, and when they reach the top, he grabs her hand. “I don’t want you to go,” he says, eyes wide. “I want you to stay. We need you to stay.”

She strokes her fingers over his cheek. “I’m glad, sweetheart. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

Anne goes upstairs, Harry makes tea, and his head still feels so full that it hurts, but he’s been given a clear instruction and it helps. Making tea; he’s done that countless times by now, especially to lighten Louis’ mood, and it helps interrupt the stream of _Jack Jack Jack_ racing through his head.

When the tea is done, he pours it in Louis’ favorite mug and grabs a package of these fancy biscuits that his mum buys that Harry has always hated but Louis loves. He knows how to take care of Louis; there’s no way to forget that after all these years. Maybe if he concentrates on comforting Louis, he can find comfort in that himself. 

Louis’ at the end of the couch, curled up with his elbow resting on the armrest and a couch pillow cuddled against his stomach. He’s staring at nothing, and when Harry enters the living room, he looks up at him. His expression is mostly blank, if only a hint of gentleness there. 

“I made you tea,” Harry says, shuffling on his feet for a second before coming over to Louis. Louis draws his feet closer to him as if to make room for Harry, like there isn’t already plenty of space. He sits beside him, handing him the tea and package of biscuits. Louis takes them, mumbling out a thanks that sounds genuine. 

“Madison’s going to be okay,” Louis tells him, voice low, as he grabs a biscuit from the plastic. “She’s. . . We have to help her through it, obviously, but I think she’ll be alright.”

“And us?” Harry asks tentatively. 

Louis snaps the biscuit in half and shrugs. “I think. . . I think we have to help each other through it, too. We can’t go at this alone. And it’s hard to think that we’ll ever be okay, but I think eventually it’ll get less hard. That’s what your mum said, anyway. I don’t know.”

Harry doesn’t know, either. He lays down beside Louis, tucking his body against his and resting his head against his hip. He doesn’t know, and neither does Louis, and neither does anyone else. That’s one of the many things Harry’s just going to have to accept, he’s pretty sure.

-

That night, instead of sleeping in Jack’s cramped twin-sized bed, they sleep in Madison’s. Louis and Harry sleep on opposite sides of her with Cooper at their feet. It only takes ten minutes of crying for her to be pulled to sleep, and once she’s under, Louis and Harry stare at each other without saying anything. This time, there’s an excuse for their silence. 

-

Grief is an ugly thing. 

It’s not just the worst sadness he’s ever experienced, it’s anger and despondence and sleeping all day. The day after they tell Madison, Harry wakes up in the middle of the night and heads to Jack’s room, and he sleeps until three in the afternoon, only being woken by his mum knocking on the door. It’s being paranoid, for some reason, because Harry can’t stop thinking that he’s doing this wrong and that everyone else is handling it better than him and that Louis’ going to get mad and leave him. Anne keeps telling him that’s just because he lost Jack, and he’s scared to lose Louis, too, like that helps anything. It’s also blaming himself for everything, for Madison’s tantrums and Jack’s death and Louis’ sorrow. There must be something he can do that he’s not, or something he could have done that he didn’t. The guilt Harry is dragging around is suffocating, it’s unavoidable, and it hurts. 

Grief for Louis is waking up early and spending hours outside with Cooper. It’s making himself tea that he doesn’t drink, the empty mugs like a trail that Anne or Harry clean up after. It’s breaking his hands trying to make Madison happy, pouring all his energy into her, and looking defeated when it doesn’t work. And either Harry’s being paranoid again, or part of Louis’ grief is slowly pulling away from Harry, because by the end of the first week, Harry swears Louis has pulled away from Harry’s touch more than he’s pulled closer. 

For Anne, it’s pretending like nothing has changed. It’s molding herself to fit whatever shape someone needs from her at the time. It’s crying in the kitchen, or in the bathroom, or in the backyard when she thinks nobody is looking. 

And for Madison. . . it’s a lot more complicated. It’s her not saying what she needs and being mad when no one can figure it out, or throwing tantrums over small things, or hitting them when they try to comfort her sometimes. She wants them to leave her alone while also needing them right there beside her. Madison’s grieving process can be summed up in one word, really: confused. She’s so bloody confused. She’s feeling so many things she’s never felt before, never watched anyone else feel, and they’re all so big and scary that she doesn’t know how to handle them. She doesn’t know how to cope. And it’s getting worse, he swears it’s getting worse, like Madison is slowly realizing Jack really isn’t coming home. 

It hides itself in different shapes, but no matter what form it takes, it’s ugly. It’s relentless and sickening and cruel. And on the morning of the funeral, eight days after Jack’s death, they’re all choking on it worse than ever before, maybe even worse than that first night. Because today is the day they’re supposed to say goodbye, it’s the day for closure, and Harry still swears it’s all been a misunderstanding. If he doesn’t get this right today, he might regret it for the rest of his life. 

It’s seven forty-five when he wakes, and Louis isn’t next to him. He must be outside, then, and usually Harry lets him be, but this morning, he pulls on a coat and slides on some slippers. On his way to the backyard, he passes his mum who’s sitting at the kitchen table, and he presses a quick kiss to her cheek on his way out. 

He pushes open the back door, flinches from the cold air, and when he looks up, he realizes that it’s snowing. He stares out at the snowflakes rushing down, idly noting that he’ll have to drive because Louis refuses to drive in the snow if he can help it. It’s the day he has to say goodbye to his baby, and it’s snowing for this first time this fall. He swallows, tears welling up in his eyes and pricking his throat. Cooper nosing at his hand is completely ignored by his brain, far too overwhelmed, but when Louis speaks, he registers that. 

“It probably won’t stick,” he says. “It’s not cold enough yet.”

Harry nods as he takes a deep breath. He pets Cooper’s head briefly before moving to sit next to Louis on the swing. The motion from him sitting makes him momentarily dizzy, and he carefully lifts his legs up so it doesn’t move too much. 

“This would’ve made his day,” Louis whispers, and Harry nearly cries when Louis reaches over to grab his hand. His fingers are freezing, but Harry doesn’t even think about complaining. “He would’ve felt like shit still, probably. Exhausted, sleeping half the day, having headaches. . . But him waking up to this -- he would’ve forgotten about all of that.”

“Probably would have demanded to go for a walk,” Harry agrees. He stares down at their clasped hands, at their tattoos. At least Jack is permanent in that way, he thinks. 

“You know,” Louis starts. “I was thinking, like. I wish we’d done the memorial service at the place you grew up. Mayfair, I mean. I don’t even think I’ve been to her house in Chelsea.”

Immediately, Harry says, “We can move it. It won’t be a problem, Louis, if that’s -- we can just move it. My mum, she can pay to have people move the things.”

“Doesn’t it sound nice, though?”

“It does,” Harry agrees, reaching up to touch Louis’ cheek. “It’s been ages since we took the kids there; Madison will like it. We can move it, nobody will care.”

“Does your mum even still own it? I thought she only had the three houses here.”

Harry shakes his head. “She does. It’s my dad’s. He wanted us to stay there while I grew up because he felt bad for leaving. But yeah, he still owns it.”

“If it’s not a problem. . .”

“It’s not. I’ll go tell Mum. She won’t care.”

“Not right now,” Louis says, tugging Harry closer by his wrist. Harry scoots closer, his hand dropping to Louis’ shoulder. “Just sit with me, for a bit.”

“Okay,” Harry whispers, and he tucks himself into Louis’ side. The movement of the swing makes Harry nauseous again, but it goes away as quickly as it came. If only the tears burning Harry’s eyes could do the same. 

-

Suits are ironed, ties are straightened, shoes are thrown before being securely strapped to Madison’s feet. It feels wrong; whenever Harry is getting dressed up like this, he’s usually going somewhere fun, somewhere exciting. Today is the exact opposite of that, and so it feels wrong to put effort into looking nice. Today’s about Jack, and Jack never cared if Harry’s shirt was wrinkled or not, be here he is, smoothing it out in the mirror. He wonders if it makes him selfish, narcissistic. Louis’ doing the same in the bathroom mirror, though. One last look in the mirror before they have to leave. 

Both of them step away from the mirrors, Louis emerging from the bathroom swiftly, when a loud shout is heard from downstairs. Madison’s been a right mess today. If it was under different circumstances, he’d say she’s being a brat, but she’s mourning and grief is an ugly thing. Louis grabs his coat off the door and heads down the stairs, Harry following closely after him. 

“I don’t want to go,” they hear Madison shout. From the kitchen, they find. Anne is sitting down with her, clearly trying to talk her through this for the millionth time. Madison doesn’t get this, doesn’t understand why she has to go for Jack if Jack isn’t going to _be_ there. Harry and Louis discussed making arrangements so she wouldn’t have to come, but they ultimately decided they wanted her there. They want her to have a chance to say goodbye. 

“Baby bee,” Harry mumbles, coming closer to her. He crouches down in front of her seat, his hands on her knees. Her face is bright red, her eyes wet. He kisses her knee as Louis comes to stand behind him. “I know you’re upset, alright? We’re all sad, too. But it’s important that we go.”

“It’s stupid,” she huffs, and her foot jerks out like she thought about kicking him. 

“Maybe,” Louis says behind him. “But everyone will be there, baby. Uncle Liam and Aunt Gem and all my sisters, too. All your cousins, baby, don’t you want to see them?”

“No,” she says miserably. 

Harry frowns. “We’d really like it if you came, love. It’s important to us. We’d feel a lot better if you were there. And I know it’ll be weird, okay? It’s going to be weird. But it’s -- it’s okay to be sad. It’s always okay to be sad. Every day, it’s okay, but today especially.”

“And we’re going to all sorts of places,” Louis tells her. “First a church, and then a -- and then somewhere outside. We’ll get to be out in the snow for a bit. And then we’re going to a big, big house in Mayfield. It’s where Daddy grew up.” He digs his fingers into Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t you want to see where he was, what he was up to, at your age? Doesn’t that sound fun?”

She squirms. “I don’t know.”

It dawns on Harry, then, that this isn’t just her being upset because of Jack. She has quite literally never gone anywhere like this without Jack by her side in her entire life. When Jack was too sick to go to family gatherings, Madison simply didn’t go either. Jack did the same with her, too. They were a united front, and maybe Madison developed a dependency on him. Maybe the idea of being alone around a lot of people scares her. 

“You can stay with me and Dad the entire time, you hear me?” Harry says firmly, and he reaches up to smooth down a stray hair. She leans into the touch. “You’ll sit by us, you’ll ride with us, you’ll be right next to us the entire time, baby. The whole time. You can sit in our laps and hold our hands as much as you’d like. We’d like that, too, okay?”

“The whole time?” she asks, doubtful. 

Louis answers immediately. “Every second.”

They had a conversation like this with Jack less than two weeks ago, and the memory of it is slamming its fists against Harry’s brain, begging to be paid attention to, but Harry can’t right now. He can’t focus on that, or else he’ll cry, and Madison needs them right now. 

She stretches her arms out towards him, as if to test it, and Harry scoops her up. God, he misses carrying Jack, misses cuddling him close. That’s something Harry would give anything for to have again, just another cuddle with his son. 

“We have to put our coats on first, though, okay?” Harry tells her, and his voice wobbles. It must be noticeable because Louis puts a steadying hand on his lower back. 

It hurts, everything hurts, and he hopes to God that getting some closure today can make it just a little more bearable. 

-

Closure is a made up thing, he decides. He makes this decision while his mother is at the podium, speaking about Jack to all their friends and family. His hand is firmly on Madison’s shoulder, Louis’ on the opposite, and he can’t really hear anything aside from faint talking. It sounds like it’s been drowned under miles of water. He’s dizzy, too, and he’d think he was falling if it weren’t for his hold on Madison. 

This type of pain, this deep of a wound -- there’s no way to find closure in that. It’ll always, always be there, bleeding and festering. Maybe things will make it better, but there will be a lot of things to make it worse, and that’s just not something that’s going to change. Gaining closure is essentially saying he’s moved on, that a chapter of his life has been closed, but fuck that. Jack wasn’t just a chapter of his life, he was Harry’s entire world, and that can’t be closed off. He’s always going to feel this pain. 

“And his laugh was infectious,” Anne’s voice rings out. He can barely make out the words, but he knows what she’s saying because he read over her eulogy on the way here. He didn’t end up driving, since Anne said as politely as she could that he’d get them all killed driving in his condition. She drove, and Louis sat in the back Madison, and Harry read the eulogy. He didn’t cry; it felt like he couldn’t. He hasn’t cried yet since they got here, either. Louis has, and so has everyone else around them, but Harry can’t. 

Coming in, they managed to slip away from the majority of pitying stares and touches. They spoke with Louis’ family for a little while before finding their seats, and the way Lottie clutched to her son as they spoke about Jack won’t leave Harry’s mind. Most of their friend’s kids are too little to be brought to something like this, aside from Niall’s and a few others. And for some reason, Harry thought it would be obvious that they didn’t want a bunch of kids running around here. Lottie brought her kids, though, her two boys, and Gemma bought her kids as well so Madison wouldn’t be left out. He’s not mad about those who have decided to bring their kids, just -- if they’re here, fine, but don’t clutch them so tightly in front of him like Harry’s going to whisk them away or explode at the sight of them. 

“And I think we could all take something away from how he never stopped smiling. . .”

Beside the empty seat that Anne occupied before, Scott is standing there, baby Pete in his arms. Gemma’s standing beside him, for some reason. Harry would much rather turn to see his sister staring back at him, her warm eyes, not Scott’s nervous ones. Louis’ mum is standing next to Louis, her hand on his shoulder much like their hands on Madison’s. His other hand aches to be secured over Jack’s shoulder, too, keeping him close. 

Harry swears he doesn’t even hear the end of the speech or process that the service is moving on until a hand touches his back, and his mum is back standing next to him. He stares at her, confused, and she rubs his back soothingly. 

After more muddled talking, Harry can suddenly feel the atmosphere shift. He glances around, trying to gauge what’s changed. He can’t concentrate on anything right now, and he doesn’t exactly know what’s happening, but Anne and Jay start to gently push Harry and Louis forward. Louis looks just as lost as he does. 

“You don’t have to say anything out loud, if you don’t want to,” Jay says. “Just go up there, okay? Just for a second?”

Oh, Harry thinks numbly. They’re supposed to go up to the casket now. And say what, Harry doesn’t know. He just thinks this is all a bit morbid, everyone staring at them as they approach the shut casket, Madison between them looking nervous. But when he realizes that Madison needs him, a switch kicks on and he feels a little more present. He crouches down beside her, Louis mirroring his moments in sync, and they tell her that she can say goodbye, that she can touch the glossy, dark wood, or she can’t not do anything at all. She doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand it, and she’s still hiccupping loudly as she reaches over to set her hand flat against the polished wood. 

Harry turns his head for a moment, certain he’s going to throw up, but the feeling passes. 

Louis places his hand next to Madison’s, so Harry does the same, and that’s when the tears finally kick in. Because this -- this whole day so far -- hasn’t been about Jack, it’s been about them, but now -- now he’s connected with Jack in some way. Now, this feels like it’s about Jack, and it hurts. 

Madison turns to Louis when she wants to be picked up, probably uncomfortable by Harry’s tears, and the three of them stand up on shaking legs before heading back to the front pew. Madison’s cries are hardly muffled by Louis’ shirt while Harry’s are silent, his sniffles weak. He feels so weak. 

A hand grasps Harry’s shoulder tightly, and Harry doesn’t react at first, thinking it’s Anne. Her hands are by her side, though, so Harry turns slightly. It’s Liam, and he nods at Harry when they lock eyes. Harry reaches up to grab his hand, holding it tightly, the other hand going to rest on Louis’ forearm. 

A little while later, people start shuffling out. Anne and Jay act as guards for the two of them as they accept people’s condolences on behalf of them. Harry wonders who’s going to stick around for the burial, and then the memorial service. He hopes the crowd is halved by then; he doesn’t want to deal with people who are only here to be polite. He’s pretty sure he saw Des’ neighbor’s kid here, a man Harry spoke to occasionally as a kid. 

When it’s just the five of them, Anne turns to them. “Do you want a moment alone?” she asks, and she touches Harry’s arm so softly. 

“We can take Madison to the car,” Jay adds.

Harry doesn’t even have time to think properly before Louis is saying yes, they want a few minutes alone. He hands Madison off to his mum, and Harry squeezes her ankle as she goes. They tell them to take their time before leaving, and then it’s just Harry and Louis. Even the priest has left by now, slipping away into the shadows. 

“I don’t know if I can do it,” Louis whispers, sounding ashamed. He hangs his head, and Harry doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but he crowds against Louis anyway, pulling him close and telling him that he can, he can do it. “Watching them do -- that,” Louis continues, voice choked. He tucks his face against Harry’s jacket, his fingers wrinkling the fabric at the bottom. “Bury him, put him under, under the cold, hard ground, I can’t -- I can’t do that, Harry, I can’t.”

“You can,” Harry says firmly, hoping it’ll give Louis the strength. Because Harry couldn’t do it alone, and they promised Madison they’d be there every step of the way. “He’s -- it’s going to be fine. We’ll get to see that he’s safe, right? And protected. We won’t have to worry that something is off, because we’ll get to see it.” He drops a kiss to Louis’ head, holding him closer. “And if you don’t want to look, then you don’t have to. We can be just like this, okay, but I,” his voice wavers. “I need you to be there with me, Louis.”

Louis nods into his chest. 

Before they leave the church, hand-in-hand, they say another silent goodbye. On top of the casket, they line their hands up and just rest them there, and they hope that says everything in itself. Words have failed them too many times in their lives; maybe this will be enough. 

-

After what feels like a million hours later, because time is playing tricks on Harry today, dragging itself out to rub in the pain, Harry is leaned against the kitchen counter of his childhood home. It’s quiet in the kitchen, since he’s by himself. He needed a second of peace. People are mingling out there like this isn’t the worst day of Harry’s life, and it’s making him sick. 

He’s been gone for a half hour before Louis comes and finds him. Or, maybe he wasn’t looking for him, because he opens the first set of cabinets without looking at Harry. 

“There’s none here,” Harry says quietly. “I looked. He must’ve moved everything to his new house so his wine cooler could look fancier.”

Louis sighs, dropping his arms to his side. He turns to Harry slowly, and he looks beat. “Nobody out there seems to realize that I’m not in the mood to chat.”

“That’s why I left. Liam started talking to Zayn about some office meeting they have, and I couldn’t take it anymore. Where’s Mads?”

“With Scott and Gemma. Antagonizing Pete. She’s fine.”

“Too tired to care about any of this anymore, you mean.”

Louis nods as he crosses the kitchen to stand next to Harry. He sets his elbows on the counter, leaning against it, so their bodies are facing opposite directions. “I’m glad we did it here,” Louis says. “It’s. . . not nice, being back here, but it’s familiar. It’s good to know that Jack had been here before, even if it was only once or twice.”

One day, reminiscing about him is bound to get a little easier. Now, Harry’s already nearly choking on tears again. 

“He liked the pool,” Harry says, remembering how Jack attempted to make a beeline straight in it when he’d only been swimming, like, twice before that. Cooper was right on his heels, and Harry’s still confident he would’ve protected him if Louis hadn’t gotten to him first, but it scared the shit out of him anyway. And then they got him in proper swimming trunks and floaties, and Harry had a hand on him the entire time as Jack swam around, little limbs flailing about. Madison sat with Louis at the edge of the pool, too scared to go in. 

The pool is covered now, all closed off for winter, and it feels spiteful. 

“I want to go home,” Louis whispers. “Can’t cry around all these people without getting a few stares. And half these people -- I mean, I know we became a little closed off after he got sick, a little busy, but Lottie’s friend from primary school came. Like this is a bloody -- ”

He doesn’t finish that sentence, because Jay comes walking in with an exhausted Madison weighing down her arms. Harry steps forward to take her, and Jay hands her off easily. 

“She was asking for you,” she says, sticking close by to run her fingers through Madison’s hair. “She’s grown so much since I saw her last. What a beautiful girl. Looks more like May more and more every day, I swear.”

Harry and Louis shoot each other a look at the same time, a desperate, nervous glance that reads, _Please tell me you remembered to invite her._ Because May was the best surrogate they could have ever asked for, she was so kind and understanding, the mother of their two children, and they just didn’t think she’d want to come to this. They didn’t even think of her at all. And yes, it’s true that she didn’t want to have much contact with the kids unless the kids wanted to meet her -- all she asked was for a Christmas card every year -- but Harry and Louis made the decision to reach out to her to tell her that Jack was sick anyway. 

It was a long time ago, maybe two months after Jack was first diagnosed. May had been very apologetic, and in the end, she chose not to visit. It’s not like they had expected her to, or wanted anything from her. They just thought she should know, but they fully respected her decision. She calls infrequently, maybe every five months or so, to ask how he’s doing, and she sounds like she genuinely wants to know, so it was a really, really shithead move not to think to invite her. Or tell her that the person she birthed into this world four years ago is now dead. 

“Are we terrible people for not inviting her?” Louis whispers, looking horrified, and Harry quickly shakes his head. That’s -- no. He can’t take any more guilt. 

“She lives in Wales, anyway, she wouldn’t have wanted to come. She wouldn’t have, she -- there’s no way.”

Harry and Louis had taken a month-long vacation to Wales during May’s last month of pregnancy so they wouldn’t have to miss it. She had asked that they weren’t in the room during the birth, though she invited them in as soon as Jack was born and let them stay through Madison’s birth. It had been the most overwhelming experience of Harry’s life at the time, and now that’s been replaced by much more depressing days. 

“I don’t think she would have wanted to be invited,” Jay says calmly. “But maybe, when you’re ready, one of you should give her a call.”

God, that’s going to be painful. Harry almost thinks they should spare her the news, but it’d be so awful if she called in a few months to check-in, only to find out that he’s been dead for months. It’s one more thing on Harry’s mind, one more thing weighing down his heart, and it’s the last thing he can take before he decides he wants to go home. 

Louis must be on the same page, because he says, “I want to go home. We can just go home, right? It’s -- and Maddie’s tired, and I’m. . .”

Jack’s headstone is sleek black with his name engraved in capital letters, and there’s a dog that was etched into the stone with Cooper as a reference at the bottom of it. It’s not done yet, but Harry and Louis recently got a picture of the almost-finished result, and he thinks about it suddenly. The image sticks in his mind as Jay explains that yes, they can go, and that she’ll fetch Anne while they slip out the back. 

“And our coats,” Harry says faintly, weakly, as he squeezes Madison tight. She’s sound asleep on his shoulder, her hands loosely holding onto his shirt. As Jay leaves, nodding, Louis turns to him. 

“We should call May tomorrow. I think. . . She deserves to know.”

All Harry can do is nod before burying his face in his daughter’s neck, the urge to protect her and hide her away from everyone the strongest it's ever been. 

-

The day after the funeral, Harry wakes up at eight in the morning. And then he falls back asleep, tucking his face against Louis’ ribcage as they lay in Jack’s bed. The next time he wakes, it’s one, Louis gone, and he can hear Madison singing downstairs. The sound is about the best thing ever, and he holds it close to his heart. He thinks about getting up for all of two seconds before he’s pulled back under. Then, he wakes up at two, and the same thing happens: he opens his eyes, sees the digital clock on Jack’s shelf, next to his Woody statue, thinks he should get up, and then immediately passes out again. Then again at three-thirty. At five, he wakes to Louis sitting next to him in bed, running his fingers against Harry’s neck. Again, it wakes him slightly, and he debates getting up, but he feels powerless against the exhaustion weighing him down. He reaches towards Louis, hand falling onto his thigh, as his eyes slip shut again. 

“Can’t sleep all day, baby.”

Harry’s never been so tired, so he’s pretty sure he could. 

“Come on, H. Madison’s getting worried.”

That makes Harry properly wake up. He still feels like garbage, but now he has some semblance of motivation. “I feel like shit,” he says, voice scratchy with sleep. His head is pounding and his face aches like it’s swollen, and he’s gotten used to that enough to know it’s from crying so much the day before. 

“‘Cause we’ve been eating like shit for days. Come on, Mum will make you something to eat.”

Harry rolls onto his stomach and cracks his eyes open. “What time did you wake up?”

“Nine, I think. I, um. I called May.”

Harry sits up on his elbows, shocked and angered and with nausea sloshing around in his stomach. That’s not at all what he wanted to wake up to, what the fuck. What the actual fuck. “What?” he asks. “I thought -- I thought we would do that together.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“You knew that I wanted to be there, but you went ahead and did it anyway? I mean, Louis. I thought -- what did she say?”

Louis sighs. “That she was sad for us. That she had been praying for him every night. I don’t know, she didn’t say much. She was shocked, for the most part.”

Harry rubs a hand over his face, trying to push this aside. Louis shouldn’t have called her on his own, but it’s. . . it’s not fine, but it’s not something that Harry has the energy to argue over. He doesn’t have any more fight in him. 

“Did you tell her where the cemetery was?” Harry asks quietly, staring down at the bed.

“Yeah. She said she’d visit, if she was ever in town.”

Harry nods before getting out of bed. He has to use the bathroom, and he also just wants to be alone for a minute. Louis doesn’t protest, which sort of makes Harry angrier, but whatever. He has to let that go; this is not the time to get worked up over small things.

Everyone’s sitting in the living room, and Harry makes it a point to sit next to Louis, grabbing his hand. He doesn’t want to cause any tension between them, because as emotionally fragile as they both are right now, the tiniest pressure could make them snap. 

“C’mere, Mads,” Harry says tiredly, patting his lap. Madison abandons her Legos to come and crawl onto Harry’s lap. She seems less upset today, more herself. Harry knows it won’t be that easy, that the grief will hide itself in other ways when it comes to her, but for now, it comforts him. 

-

The next week goes by so slow that Harry genuinely fears he’s losing his mind. Every minute he’s awake, he’s exhausted and his heart hurts and Jack weighs heavy on his head. All of his senses feel overstimulated, the smallest thing feeling like the biggest. Conversations are getting harder and harder to maintain, bed times are becoming earlier and earlier, and his mum’s words are starting to impact him less. You can only be told so many times that things will get better before you stop believing it. 

Louis is coping in his own way. He’s taken over breakfasts and lunches, he’s doing the dishes more than he ever has, he’s taking Cooper out on these hour-long walks. And that’s all good and well, and Harry does not want to demand that Louis cope the same way he does, but it’s entirely too much when everyone else is being productive and loud around him when he just feels. . . stuck. If it wasn’t for Anne taking care of him, Harry would be well on his way to wasting away by now. 

He doesn’t even know it’s Halloween, a day behind in his head, until he walks into the kitchen at eleven in the afternoon and Madison’s wearing a shirt with a pumpkin on it. Jack had an identical one, he thinks, as Madison pops up from her seat and shouts happy Halloween. 

“Thanks, baby,” he mumbles, too tired to fake excitement. He does, however, come over and give her a hug to make up for it. He pokes her tummy, and she giggles as she squirms away. “You my little pumpkin today, hmm?”

She pouts up at him. “Noo.”

“No? Why?”

Madison simultaneously gets him through the day and makes his day a million times more difficult. She keeps him moving, occupied, distracted, but she also is an ever-present reminder that Jack is no longer here. 

“I’m a bee,” she says, kind of sadly, and Harry pokes her nose. 

“That’s right. My baby bee, you’re right.”

He doesn’t know where that nickname started, it just sort of happened, and she’s clung to it ever since. It was a nickname that Jack didn’t have, and that made her feel special. It still does, judging by her bright smile. 

Louis’ making lunch, says he’s just in time, and Anne is sifting through a magazine at the table. When Harry sits down in the chair between Madison and Anne, his mum looks up at him, frowning.

“You look tired, love.”

Harry waves her off, and as if to remind him, his eyes grow heavier. “Might take a nap later, but I’m fine.”

“Before the party?” Madison asks, her eyes wide. Harry stares at her, confused, his eyes slowly finding Louis’. The Halloween party is no longer on the agenda. It was taken off the agenda the minute Jack died; maybe even before then. He didn’t even give it a second thought, and now here she is, staring at him like he’s broken a promise.

“Did you still want to go to that, baby?” Louis asks carefully, turning around to look at her. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

Madison’s eyes welling with tears is enough for them all to realize that yes, she very much still wants to go to that. And if she does, that’s fine; they can get it sorted out, someone else can come pick her up and drop her off. Harry has no problem with that. 

“I can take you, darling,” Anne says, smiling softly at her. “It’ll -- ”

“I want Dads to come,” she interrupts, big blue eyes darting between the three of them, angry. And Harry loves her, loves her to pieces, but he will not be going to a Halloween party. Absolutely not, not a week after his son’s funeral. It’s just not happening. And it looks like Louis is on the same page as him. 

“Baby,” he says slowly. “Grandma can just take you, can’t she? It’ll be no different, love, you’ll just be playing with the other kids.”

But it’s the wrong answer. It must be, because Madison bolts from her chair and runs upstairs, and the door slams shut behind her. Cooper lifts his head off the ground, confused, before getting up and going after her. 

Harry and Louis stare at each other. 

“I’m not going,” Harry says, and there’s an edge to his voice. He recognizes it, how hostile he sounds, so he tries to fix it. “Louis, babe, I can’t go to that. And if you can’t, either, that’s fine. She’ll get over it.”

“Will she?”

“If Mum takes her, yes,” Harry tells him. “She’ll forget that we didn’t come within the first five minutes.”

Louis looks conflicted, and Anne shakes her head. “Let me talk to her,” she says, standing up. “There’s no reason that I can’t just take her.”

Once she’s gone, Harry sits back in his chair and Louis turns towards the stove again. He flicks the burner on and something sizzles. Harry stares at his back, at his shoulders flexing and his muscles moving. They don’t say anything, even though they should. Even when they hear Madison shouting upstairs. It’s not until Anne comes back with a flushed face and a frown that they speak. 

“I can walk her in,” Louis offers, sighing. “If I get her settled, she won’t mind if I leave.”

Harry can’t even imagine doing that. Going inside his sister’s home, around all those people, all those kids. Absolutely not. That’s his worst nightmare right now. But if Louis can do it, and he’s willing, then Harry isn’t going to disagree. 

“Are you sure?” Anne asks, and Louis shrugs. He’s tense, though, Harry can see it in his posture, in how pinched he’s carrying his shoulders.

“It’ll be five minutes. And then I can come back home and get drunk with Haz. If you don’t mind staying with her, that is.”

“Of course I don’t,” Anne says. “But you shouldn’t be drinking. It’s not healthy.”

“It’s what we did every Halloween before we had kids,” Harry tells her, sort of feeling numb all the sudden. It’s like how he felt at the funeral; everything’s starting to feel less real, less tangible. “Ordered pizza and got drunk.”

“You still have a kid,” she says, and Harry hardens her gaze at her. 

“I know that,” Harry says harshly. “But she’s not going to be here tonight, is she? That’s all I was saying.”

Anne nods. “I know that, love.”

“Then don’t make me feel like a bad father for wanting to get drunk on my dead kid’s favorite holiday,” Harry says, scoffing. Not even a second later, Louis responds. 

“Stop deflecting,” he says shortly. “That’s not what she was saying and you know it.”

“Don’t -- are you kidding?” Harry asks, shaking his head at Louis. It’s like all of his emotions were wrapped in a tight ball, and Anne somehow pulled at the right spot for it to unravel. “I’m still pissed at you, you know. For calling May without me. What the fuck was that, by the way? As if you didn’t know that would hurt me.”

Louis sighs, flicks off the burner again, and turns to him. “I’m not arguing with you,” he says flatly. He turns to Anne, completely dismissing Harry’s words. “I’ll go talk to her. Finish the potatoes, will you?”

And no, that’s -- no. Louis doesn’t get to tell him when they’re arguing or not, first of all. Not when Harry has a good reason to be upset. And second of all, they’re making him feel inadequate, selfish. No matter their intentions, that’s how they’re making him feel. At least Anne has the decency to talk about it with him.

“We’re all upset, all a little on edge,” she tells him. Her tone is soft. Caring. Nothing like Louis’. “Anger is a part of this, we all understand that. But we can’t be mean to each other, not right now.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“I know you weren’t. Louis knows that, too. And he wasn’t trying to be mean, either. We all just have to be a little more understanding of each other right now.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t have anything to say, so she turns to tend to the potatoes. Maybe he was a little unreasonably pissy, anyway. There’s no point in arguing, and he should’ve kept his mouth shut like he had planned on while he was upstairs.

Louis comes back to the kitchen about fifteen minutes later. There are the tell-tale signs that he’s been crying: puffy cheeks, flushed skin, tired eyes. And Madison isn’t with him, so Harry thinks he’ll have to break. That, because Madison’s happiness is more important than their own, they’ll have to cave and go to the stupid party and be robbed the ability to be sad in private. 

And he’d be willing to go, he would’ve done it for her, but Louis says, “She agreed to going with Anne so long as I walk her in,” he says with a short sigh as he leans against the door frame. He’s tired eyes fall on Harry. “But she refuses to wear her Dorothy costume. Says it’s not, like, right unless she does it with Jack. That her outfit doesn’t make sense.”

That’s a problem they can actually fix. 

“We can find something,” Harry says, standing. “Downstairs, I mean. That one year she changed costumes, like, four times.”

Harry and Louis head down to the basement together. There’s a little side room that’s filled with crap; boxes and bulky appliances and the kids’ old toys. The first few years they had this house, Louis refused to have a messy storage closet when they had a big house. Everything has a place, he’d say. After their baby shower, that motto went out the window and now he fully embraces the storage room, even in all its clutter. 

Harry’s flicks on the light, and one of the first things he sees is a witch hat poking out from a box. He grabs it and tosses it out towards the main area of the basement so they have a pile. Madison is going to be picky. 

As Harry’s crouching down in front of a box, Louis says, “It doesn’t feel like it’s been two weeks already. Some days, it feels like just yesterday it was with us, and others, it feels like it’s been months.”

Harry tightens his hold on the edge of the box. “I can’t talk about this right now.” He shoots a guilty look to Louis, who looks far too understanding. 

“Yeah, I get that.” 

He grabs a box of his own and opens it. It’s kitchen stuff, judging by the way it jingles. He sets it to the side and grabs another. 

“Jesus,” Louis mumbles. “Forgot how many fucking shoes we bought for them when they were little.”

And maybe the plan to get another kid isn’t off the table, because they’ve been holding onto all the kids’ old stuff when they could have been giving it away. Everyone’s having babies, but they’ve kept all this stuff. And it makes Harry feel incredibly disgusting to even think about that right now. He didn’t mean to; it just popped in his head. 

But then Louis says, “Maybe whenever Lottie gets pregnant again, if it’s a girl, we can give her some of Mads’ old things,” and it all but breaks Harry’s heart. Maybe it wasn’t just a passing thought. It doesn’t matter, anyway; he doesn’t even want to think about adopting another kid any time soon, no matter what his lost brain is thinking. 

Harry finds an old cowboy hat his dad used to wear while riding horses and tosses it behind Louis and onto the pile. Louis does the same with an old pair of ballerina shoes they could probably make work somehow. Madison refused to indulge Harry even a little bit in going to dance classes. She wouldn’t even go to one. And Jack said he wouldn’t go if Madison didn’t, so Harry gave up. 

Harry and Louis spend nearly an hour digging through old boxes before Anne and Madison come downstairs. Madison’s wearing her frog bathrobe, and there’s a pink tongue drawn on her face with what looks to be make-up, along with two small black circles on her cheeks that don’t really make sense. 

“I’m a frog,” Madison says, raising her arms triumphantly, completely ignoring the small mound of potential costumes behind her. 

Harry and Louis nod slowly. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. 

“That, you are,” Louis agrees.

“She just needs green shoes,” Anne tells them. Louis re-locates that box of shoes, digs through it, and comes up empty handed.

Harry stands, his limbs protesting slightly. “Jack had a pair of turtle slippers,” he says hesitantly. “If I find them for you, is that -- I mean, would you want to wear them?”

Madison’s eyes go wide as she leans back against Anne’s leg. “Could I?” she asks, quiet. 

“Jack never minded sharing,” Louis reminds her. He walks out of the storage room and Harry follows, flicking the light off. They all ignore the pile of things on the floor as they head back upstairs, and Harry wonders if that robe has made it to the wash in the last two weeks or so. 

-

That night, Harry and Louis end up in opposite ends of the house, one of them massively wasted and the other wishing he was. Harry’s almost offended at how shocked his mother is that Louis’ the one slumped on the couch when she gets home. 

They start the night at the same place: the dining table. Harry doesn’t really know why, but the kitchen table feels off limits tonight. Anne picked them up a pizza before she and Louis left to take Madison to the party, and they each pick at their food quietly for a miserable half hour. Louis’ the one to leave first, saying he’s going to grab a bottle of vodka. Harry doesn’t follow. Instead, he abandons his food, grabs the three family albums that are tucked in the living room’s cabinet, and heads downstairs to be by himself. 

Well, he’s not by himself. Cooper keeps him company. 

It takes him two and a half hours to get through all the pictures. He spends time studying each and every one of them, taking himself back to that memory, back to that smile or park or house. He wants to remember everything, every bit of Jack’s life. He’s terrified of forgetting parts, so he spends as much time as he needs to remember them. 

It hurts, of course. Each picture of him feels like it’ll be the last punch before he breaks. But the pain. . . it’s becoming the only thing that keeps his brain full anymore. If he forces him to stop thinking about Jack, then there’s nothing else to fill that space.

Once he’s finished looking through the books, he lowers himself from the couch to the floor to sit with Cooper. Cooper licks him and loves on him and it helps, it does. Harry’s sobbing quietly and each nerve ending feels like it’s been set on fire, but Cooper helps. Somehow, it helps. And then, hardly ten minutes later, he hears Louis start to drunkenly make his way down the steps. 

Harry makes it to the bottom of the steps to glare at Louis, who has only made it to step number two. “Get back up there,” he says sternly, heading up the stairs himself. He grabs Louis’ forearm tightly and doesn’t let go until they’re away from the stairs. “Don’t do stairs when you’re drunk, you idiot.”

“Not drunk,” Louis slurs, and Harry huffs. He steers Louis to the kitchen chair before getting him a glass of water. He doesn’t let him be until he’s drank all of it, and when he has, Harry helps him to the couch. The pizza box and vodka are on the coffee table, and while Harry takes them to the kitchen and puts everything away, Louis falls asleep on the couch. 

For a second, Harry is furious. It almost immediately fizzles out, though. Harry had every intention of getting just as drunk as Louis before all the sudden he decided the idea of alcohol sounded terrible. So, instead of being angry, he fixes the pillow under Louis’ head, covers him with a blanket, and sits by his feet, waiting for his mum and Madison to come home. 

Harry’s not at all surprised that Anne brings Madison home asleep. He is a little bummed, though. He wanted to hear about the party, about the happy memories she made tonight in the midst of all the sad ones. 

“We can sit and chat after I put her to bed,” Anne tells him softly, but Harry shakes his head. 

“It’s alright. I’m knackered myself. Thanks for taking her, though.”

Anne smiles at him sadly. “Of course, baby.”

-


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: there's about 2 or 3 sentences in this part about suicidal ideation, but it's super brief and it's the character dismissing it!
> 
> i hope you enjoy this part!

-

And then it’s been a month. 

A month of not having his son in his life, in their house, in his arms. A month of suffering with the worst pain he’s ever felt. A month of feeling isolated and lost and defeated, a month of not visiting his son’s grave but damn near getting up to do so every day, of dealing with random outbursts from Madison. It’s been a month, and Harry’s not sure if he has hallucinated the distance between him and Louis or not. 

The day after it’s been a month, though, Harry is sure he has not hallucinated it. He’s never been so sure of anything else in his life other than the fact that him and Louis are not on the same page anymore, that something got lost in translation, because Louis tells Harry that he’s going back to work. 

Immediately, the breath is knocked out of Harry’s lungs. He stares at Louis across the living room in disbelief. And Louis’ sitting there on the chair, arms crossed over his body and face contorted like he knows this is going to hurt Harry, and yet he’s choosing to do it anyway. 

Madison and Anne are at the park with Cooper, so there is absolutely no reason why he shouldn’t get to yell. 

“I’m going back to work this week, Harry,” Louis said. _Told_ him, like Harry doesn’t get a say in this. Like he isn’t impacted by this at all. 

“Like hell you are,” Harry spits. He’s standing near the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. He was on his way to call his sister for the first time in weeks, because that’s _his_ definition of a big step. Not fucking off and abandoning his family. 

Louis’ eyes dart away, and Harry sees red. “You fucking look at me,” he seethes, stepping closer. “You look me in the eye while you explain to me why the fuck you think that’s a good idea.”

“I can’t stay off work forever, babe,” Louis says, and he drags his eyes back to Harry’s. “I can’t lose my job.”

“You don’t _want_ to,” Harry corrects. “You don’t _want_ to lose your job. What you _want_ to do is leave me, leave _us_ , and for _what?_ ”

Louis frowns. “I’m going back to work, Harry, not packing up and moving to fucking Mexico. I know you’re upset, but you don’t have to be dramatic.”

“I am not going to sit here all day by himself taking care of _our_ daughter while you are gone eight hours a day, while you’re gone for breakfast and lunch and just barely make it to dinner, I’m not doing that, not right now.”

“Your mum will -- ”

“My _mum_ isn’t even supposed to be here anymore,” Harry interrupts. His hands are shaking with how angry he is. “We made an agreement with her a long time ago that she’d only stay as long as Jack did, and she’s doing us a huge favor by continuing to help us, and I can’t -- I will not continue to expect things from her that my own husband won’t provide for us.”

“You are being so dramatic about this,” Louis says, and he scoffs, sitting back in the chair more. He runs his hands through his hair and shakes his head. “Anne doesn’t mind, first of all. Second of all, I work four days a week at a job a half hour away, it’s not like I’m going off to the bloody army. And didn’t you want to be a stay-at-home dad, didn’t you -- ”

“Stop acting like things aren’t different now,” Harry shouts. “We didn’t even talk about this, so I am allowed to be upset, Louis. It’s only been a fucking month, it’s only been -- and now you’re just going back to your life like everything’s normal again? Well, it’s not, Louis. It’s not normal, and you can’t just make these decisions without talking about them with me first.”

“What is there to talk about?”

“There is no reason for you to go back to work,” Harry says, and his voice is shaking and there are tears in his eyes. He feels humiliated, for some reason. “We have money, we -- we have -- Louis, I don’t even understand the motive you have to return to work. Aside from wanting to get away from us.”

Louis slumps in his chair and looks away, shaking his head while muttering, “You’ve always been so bloody insecure that I’ll leave you.”

“Well, you’re giving me a pretty damn good reason to believe that you will, Louis!”

“I want to go back to _work_ ,” Louis says, looking back at him as he yells. “That’s not a crime, that’s not me on the cusp of walking out -- that’s what _normal people_ do after something like this happens.”

“But I’m asking you to _stay,_ ” Harry says breathlessly, pleadingly. “I’m telling you that I am not ready to be in this alone, and you’re completely dismissing that like it’s not even important.”

“You’re not going to be alone. You’ll see me in the morning, you’ll see me at night. It’s not like we bloody talk about anything important anymore, either. I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”

And then Harry starts to cry, because he’s always been terrible at handling confrontation and Louis’ yelling at him and it’s all too much, it’s too much added pressure on him when he’s already feeling so overwhelmed. He presses the flat of his hand against his forehead, shielding his eyes slightly as he turns away. A pathetic whimper escapes him before he can swallow it down; he’s angry, not sad. He’s humiliated and sick to his stomach, but he’s not sad. 

Louis stands, and Harry shoots a glare at him. “Do _not_ try to comfort me right now,” he scolds, pointing a finger at him. “We buried him _three weeks ago. Three_.”

“I didn’t fucking forget. Don’t tell me that the way I’m dealing with this is wrong. That’s not fair, that’s not fair at all.”

Harry shakes his head. “We said we’d do this together.”

“We _are_.”

A car door slams outside, too close for either of them to fail to recognize that Anne is back home with Madison. They stare at each other, chests heaving and eyes cold, and they don’t stop until there are keys being slotted into the front door. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever made me feel so fucking stupid,” Harry spits at him, turning to walk away. Madison can’t see him upset, and he’s very much upset right now. “I hope you get what you’re looking for in helping those stupid rich people plan their stupid events that nobody wants to go to.”

Louis tries to say something in response, but the door swings open just as Harry starts ascending the stairs. Madison sounds happy, she sounds so fucking happy, and Harry tries to hold onto that as he makes a beeline to the shower. That’s the only place where he can be guaranteed left alone. 

-

It takes Anne all of five minutes to figure out that there’s something going on with Harry and Louis. Harry is freshly out of the shower, and he goes to the kitchen to grab an iced tea from the fridge, and in those few seconds of the two of them being in the same room, Anne picks up on it. 

“Harry,” Anne tries, and Harry keeps walking. 

“Maddie’s upstairs. I’m going to hang with her for a bit.”

Louis can’t come and try to resolve this -- or fight with him more about it, who knows at this point -- if Harry’s near Madison. 

When he gets to Madison’s room, she’s talking to Cooper about the park as she attempts to make her bed. She’s huffing in her attempts to straighten on the duvet, and Harry steps in to help her. 

“Can I take a nap, Daddy?” she asks. Harry gets the blanket sorted for her quickly and nods. 

“Yeah, a small one. You tired?”

She nods, climbing into bed. “Cooper runs fast,” she explains, and she pulls the blankets over her shoulders. Harry slides into bed next to her and calls Cooper up with them, The three of them cuddle up together in bed; he expects her to fall asleep right away, but she sets her head on his chest and whispers, “I miss Jack.”

It makes him dizzy, so he shuts his eyes. “I know, baby. Me too.”

“I wish he could come back. Grandma says he can’t.”

“No, love, he can’t. But if he could, he would. He loved you very much.”

She grabs his hand, then, the one with the tattoos, and she slides her little fingers over her brother’s name. Harry’s so tired, he’s so tired. Nobody should have to feel this miserable for so long. For a moment, he envies Madison. She doesn’t fully grasp the severity of forever yet, or know what a stroke is, and she can’t conceptualize all the things that Jack got robbed of. All she knows is that he’s gone and not coming back, and Harry thinks that’d be better. Easier.

“I see him sometimes,” she says. “When I sleep.”

“Me too, darling. Those are nice dreams, aren’t they?”

She shakes her head. “They make me sad.”

Harry frowns, setting his head against hers. She shouldn’t have to go through all this. Harry can’t imagine how his life would’ve turned out if he didn’t get to grow up with his sister. It’s why, as soon as Madison falls asleep beside him, he slips his phone out of his pocket carefully and texts Gemma. He was going to call her, but that’s out the window now. A text is good enough for the time being.

_How are your kids?_ he writes, and then presses send. As he wants for a response, he sips his tea and stares down at Madison. Between him and his mum -- they could take care of Madison fine, Louis’ right about that. But that’s not even the issue, and he doesn’t understand why Louis can’t understand that. He pushes that to the back of his head as Gemma’s text appears on his screen, the notification above a picture of Jack and Madison with their cheeks squished together, holding onto the same big leaf that they were so proud of finding. 

_Charlie and Morgan will not stop arguing today & Pete threw up on Scott today instead of me. How are you??_

Harry bites down on his lip as he tries to think how to answer that. There’s no way to be honest and also avoid the subject of Jack, so instead he ignores the question. _I’m just hanging out with Mads and Coop._

_Is she still doing alright?_

Harry doesn’t know why he thought reaching out to her would be a good idea. She has no way to understand what he’s going through right now, and he doesn’t even know what he wants. He doesn’t want to talk about Jack with anyone that isn’t in this house, but avoiding that feels wrong. He doesn’t just _feel_ isolated, he _is_ isolated. Going through this. . . nobody can even begin to understand. And now he doesn’t even feel like he’s in this with Louis anymore, like Louis and his way of grieving are no longer comparable. 

_She’s okay,_ he types. He leaves it at that before setting his phone down on the side table and lowering himself further down the bed. He’s so angry at Louis that, for once, his thoughts aren’t one-hundred percent zeroed in on Jack. It’s. . . a change. He’s not sure if it’s a good or bad one yet.

The two of them wake a little before dinner, so again, Harry’s granted the liberty to use Madison as a shield against Louis. At the dinner table, she’ll act as a buffer; they rarely fight in front of the kids, no matter how angry they are. It’s not how they operate, and Harry’s using that to his advantage right now. 

His luck runs out when Madison asks Anne if she can go to the neighbor’s house and she says she’ll call and ask. She doesn’t even run it by Harry and Louis, but Harry can’t be annoyed by that, not when they literally asked her to look after Madison and Jack with them. Of course Madison is going to look to Anne just as much as she does her fathers. 

“Alright, I’ll help her put her shoes on and walk her over,” Anne says, and Harry stands from the kitchen table. 

“I’ll walk her,” he says, because his desire to avoid being alone with Louis right now is somehow not overpowered by his current avoidance of other people. That’s wrong, probably, him choosing to face other people rather than his own husband, but Ms. Owens next door hasn’t abruptly made a decision that will impact their entire family, did she. That was just Louis. 

“I can go by myself,” Madison huffs, following Harry out of the room. He turns sharply to look down at her, suddenly feeling incredibly serious. 

“You don’t walk anywhere by yourself, you hear me?” he says sternly, and he sets his hand on her head as if not to scare her. The world is still a relatively safe place in Madison’s head, and as much as he wants to prepare her, he doesn’t want to scare her, either. She stares up at him with wide eyes. “If there’s not an adult that you know well to go with you, then you don’t go. Right?”

She’s furrowing her eyebrows, and for a moment, Harry thinks he’s scared her, that he’s opened another source of anxiety for her. Instead, she says, “Can I wear Jack’s turtle slippers again?”

He tries not to sigh. “Sure, love. I’ll go grab them. Put on your coat.”

Madison holds Harry’s hand the short walk over, which settles Harry’s nerves a bit. He’s pretty sure Madison wouldn’t run off with someone she didn’t know, not like Jack would have. He was a trusting kid, and he met enough adults in his life that he was just supposed to blindly trust that didn’t help with that. 

After Harry tells her she can be the one to knock, Madison slams her hand on the door repeatedly, with far more force that she needed to. Harry doesn’t comment on it, not when he’s too busy mentally preparing to get cornered by his mum and Louis the minute he gets home. 

Ms. Owens opens the door, looking a little startled. “Madison, dear, you gave me a scare.”

“She got a little excited,” Harry says sheepishly. “Sorry.”

And Ms. Owns knows that Jack is gone. She was at the funeral, after all. Anne was the one to invite her, and she came to the service but nothing else. So, he’s not all too surprised by the sad look she gives him. It’s what anyone would do, knowing his situation. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make him wildly uncomfortable. 

Before she can say anything, Madison asks, “Can we do a treasure hunt again?”

Ms. Owns looks down at her, almost looking like she already forgot she agreed to entertain a very energetic four-year-old for an hour or two. “Maybe, love. Go find Olive, see what she’s up to.”

Madison does, and Harry cringes as she screams for Olive as she rushes in. And then he’s stuck with Ms. Owens giving him that look again. Maybe he was better off with Louis, after all. 

“Painting and coloring are about the only things she’ll sit still for,” Harry tells her, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. Before, they had a reason to ship Madison off next door, and now here Harry is, asking another parent -- a single parent, who doesn’t have their mother living with them -- to look after his only living child, and that said child is running around like a bat out of hell because Harry let her nap for too long. 

He swallows and looks off to the side. “She had a nap today, so if she’s too -- ”

“No,” Ms. Owens says softly, already shaking her head. “No, don’t you worry about it. I just spent an hour playing pirates with Olive, it’ll be nice to have her distracted by someone else.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“It’s not a problem.” She hesitates, takes a sharp breath, and says, “And Harry, I’m so sorry about Jack. He was. . . He was just a really great kid.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees quietly, taking a step back, and then another. “Yeah, thanks. I have to get back home, but make sure Mads doesn’t walk back by herself, alright?”

Ms. Owens looks guilty, too, like Harry made her think she said something wrong. “Of course,” she says, and Harry nods at her. He thinks about offering some sign that she didn’t overstep, but that would mean he has to stay here for more than another second or two, so he decides against it and turns around, only offering a small wave as he goes back home. 

Harry was right: as soon as he walks in the door, as soon as he sees Anne and Louis sitting on the couch together as if they were waiting for him to get home, he knows he was right. He’s being cornered. And as vulnerable and hurt Harry is -- he doesn’t take well to that.

“I’m not talking about this,” he snaps, kicking his shoes off by the door. He hears a faint bark, and he realizes they’ve probably put Cooper out back so he wouldn’t get stressed by their yelling. 

Louis frowns at him. “We have to talk about it, babe.”

“Do we?” Harry asks incredulously. “Because you sure didn’t think so when you decided you were going back to work without me. And when you decided to call May by yourself.”

“One thing at a time,” Anne intervenes, trying to be the level-headed moderator, and it backfires on her, because it makes Harry a million times angrier at Louis. 

“That was probably the last time either of us would speak to her again,” Harry shouts, and he doesn’t realize until he says it that it’s true. “That was probably the last time, Louis, the last time, and you took that away from me. He is our son’s _mother_ and you took away my chance to make it right with her.”

“There’s nothing to make right,” Louis tells him, confused. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We didn’t _invite_ her to her own son’s _funeral,_ you fucking idiot, of _course_ we did something wrong.”

“Don’t call each other names,” Anne says weakly, which goes to show that she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. Harry and Louis always call each other names when then they argue because there’s been a mutual understanding that they don’t mean it maliciously, that those words have no more power than any other word. Harry’s called Louis a lot worse than an idiot, and so has Louis, because they fight out of love and not of hate and it doesn’t fucking matter when they call each other when they do that. 

“Then call her yourself,” Louis says. “She won’t mind hearing from you, and it’s -- it’s not like we won’t ever be in contact with her again. We send her Christmas cards every year.”

“A Christmas card is a lot different than being there when you told her Jack was dead,” Harry spits, completely outraged. “And I get that you maybe didn’t realize how important that was to me, okay, but there’s no way that you didn’t understand that I wouldn’t want you going back to work just yet, and that’s what I have a problem with.”

Louis stares at him for a moment before sighing and saying, “Nothing is final yet, okay? It’s not like I have everything set in stone yet.”

“You called your boss already,” Harry says matter-of-factly, because he knows it’s true. If it wasn’t, that would have been the first thing Louis told him while they were fighting earlier. The way his eyes dart away proves that Harry’s right. 

Harry wants Louis to sit in the uncomfortableness of being wrong for just a little while, but Anne takes that away from him. She says, “I think Louis just needs a routine back. You know, wake up, go to work, come back home, all that. If that is what he needs to do for himself, then honey, I think you should hear him out.”

“All I hear is that he needs space from his family in a time that we need him nowhere else but right here.”

“It’s not about you,” Louis snaps, glaring at him. “It’s not about you, and it’s most definitely not about Madison. I just want my _life_ back, okay, and this is the only part that I have some control over. I don’t get why that’s something we have to argue about.”

“It’s not,” Harry says, shrugging. Nothing pisses Louis off more than this sort of sarcasm. “I have made it very clear that your decision hurts me, and you’re going through with it anyway. You never had any intention of doing otherwise, so you’re right, we shouldn’t argue. I just have to suck it up, right? Go along with it. Fine. I don’t care anymore.”

Louis sighs, sitting back. “Harry, that’s not -- ”

“But it is, Louis,” Harry interrupts. “You say that what you need is -- is space, or a routine, or whatever the fuck, and what I’m saying is that I need my husband at home with me and our daughter, and you’re making me out to be the unreasonable one. So, fucking fine. Go back to work. And Jesus fucking Christ, Louis, if you think you’re so right about something, then you shouldn’t need my mum to back you up on it.”

He said everything he wanted to say, and he did so without crying, surprisingly, so he leaves the room and heads for the basement. Cooper scrapes at the back door when he walks past, so he lets him inside and says hello to him. He pets him for a few seconds before motioning for him to come downstairs, and he does, following Harry down the steps. 

The mess is still there, he realizes as he comes down the stairs. From Halloween, the costume pieces. . . He sighs, stepping down the final stair. Cleaning up is the last thing he wants to do, but leaving random stuff on the floor to tempt Cooper isn’t something he wants, either. So, he flicks on the light to the storage room and pulls out a mostly-empty box that he can cram everything into. 

As he tidies up, Cooper lays beside him and Harry thinks. About a lot of things. About how he knows that he and Louis eventually have to come to an agreement on this, about how having a valid reason to be angry at someone soothes the wild hurt in his chest, about how Jack would have been a cute cowardly lion this Halloween. He’s too tired to think about any one thing for long (and why is he so tired? He slept in late and took a nap, and it’s not like he’s done much all day), so once he’s done, he drags himself off the floor and to the couch, curling up with Cooper there. He’s too angry to be awake, so he shuts his eyes and lets himself sleep. 

-

The following morning, Harry wakes up fully knowing that this will probably be the time he has to fix things with Louis. That they’ll have to properly talk about this and figure out a solution that won’t favor one of their needs over the others. And he’s fully prepared to do that; he wakes up at nine, a reasonable time for once, and he’s ready to use that time to talk to Louis. 

What he isn’t prepared for, though, is for his mother to tell him quietly that Louis isn’t home. Louis’ not home, because he went in to work, the _day_ after Harry loudly voiced his misgivings about it. 

“You have every right to be upset,” Anne reassures him, sighing as she closes the half-full dishwasher. She leans against the counter and looks at him cautiously. “He was upset, felt like you didn’t hear him out and immediately made him out to be the bad guy. I told him that you were feeling abandoned enough already, but he didn’t quite believe that your intentions were pure, same as you didn’t believe me about his. And -- yeah. He went into work. Said his boss called to tell him there was a new client that Louis could take if he wanted, and Louis jumped at it. He probably just wanted a distraction, or to feel good at something again, but he, um. . .”

“Should’ve talked to me first,” Harry finishes, and he shakes his head as he brings his hand up to rub over his forehead. Abandoned, yeah. That’s definitely the word Harry would use to describe how he feels right now. “I know I was hard on him,” he admits quietly, not looking at his mother. “But I also know that if I wanted to do something and he came to me clearly distressed about it, I wouldn’t be so willing to go ahead in doing it.”

Anne frowns, looking helpless. “This is just a small fight. Both of you are stressed and in pain, and you can’t forget that. In the grand scheme of things, baby, this is nothing.”

“He knows what he did,” Harry says, and he turns away. He faintly hears a kids’ show play in the living room. “That’s on him to fix, Mum, not you.”

“The last thing either of you need right now is this dragging on.”

Harry shakes his head. “And the first thing I needed was for him to wait a little bit longer, and he didn’t. I’m not going to let this go to make him feel better.”

He leaves the kitchen, then, and he’s ready to let go of as much stress as he can and pour his focus onto Madison, but he can’t. Because Madison is on the couch, cuddled up with Cooper, and she gives him these big, sad eyes and a pouty lip as she says that she didn’t want Daddy to go this morning. 

“I know, Maddie.” He squishes his way into the spot next to Madison and wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. “But Dad wants to take care of us, okay? And I bet he’s missing you so much right now, you hear me? So much. ‘Cause you’re our little baby bee, and we love you very much, and we never mean to make you upset.”

The respect he’s extending to Louis by covering for him is exactly the type of respect Louis couldn’t afford him this morning, but whatever. Harry won’t get back at him by involving their child. 

And maybe Anne was right: in the grand scheme of things, in comparison to losing Jack -- this fight is so miniscule that Harry could let it go and things would be fine between them. But he will not put himself in the position of having to look back in a year from now, two years, ten -- whenever it will be, if the time comes, that Harry and Louis split -- and realize that he somehow aided their demise, he would never forgive himself for it. And right now, Harry is all too familiar with deep, chilling guilt, and he will not take the chance of adding to that. 

-

Harry, Anne and Madison are sitting at the kitchen table, eating the dinner that Anne cooked for them, when Louis comes home. He’s later than normal coming back from work, which is why they started dinner without him. Judging by the regret on his face as he walks into the kitchen, Louis is fully aware that he has messed up. 

“The stupid venue my client wanted to look at was, like, two hours away, and I -- the traffic, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be this late.” 

Madison has leapt up in his arms, and Louis’ holding her tight, but he’s staring straight at Harry. And those are actual tears in his eyes, so Harry will not be a dick, especially when the point has already been made. Louis knows what he did. 

“Go get into some sweats and I’ll make you a plate,” Harry says, and yes, his words are slightly muffled by the wine glass he has in front of his mouth, and yes, he doesn’t look at Louis while he speaks, and yes, his tone is flat. None of that matters, though, because Louis knows him well enough to see this as him trying to show that he’s not angry.

Louis nods, lips pressed together in a firm line, before setting Madison back down on the ground and heading out of the room. Once he’s gone, Harry stands and gets Louis’ plate ready for him, adding extra mashed potatoes and skipping out on the carrots. He’s only just sat back down with Louis returns, now changed into some more comfortable clothes and somehow looking more guilty than he left. 

At least he gets the hint and doesn’t bring up work. Not now, not when Harry’s trying to be nice. Instead, Louis stays quiet while Madison continues giving them a colorful play-by-play of a dream she had, and then about the treasure hunt Ms. Owens organized. Harry doesn’t know if she’s more talkative than normal in the absence of Jack, or if he’s just paying more attention to her now. And no, he won’t feel guilty if the latter is true, because he doesn’t regret a single second that he spent focusing on Jack over Madison. That doesn’t make him a bad person. 

“Madison, love,” Anne says as she stands to put her sink in the plate. “Why don’t we go play outside before it gets too cold outside, okay?”

It’s already cold outside, and it’s dark out, too, but Anne is clearly trying to give them some space to argue in peace, so Harry doesn’t comment on it. Louis and Harry keep infrequently poking at their food with their heads down as Anne gets Madison bundled up, and once they’re gone, taking Cooper with them, Harry sits back in his chair with a heavy sigh. 

“Do you think it’s wrong of me to complain about this when we have bigger things going on?” he asks, genuinely wanting to know. He’s pretty sure that he didn’t lose the right to bicker over things with his husband when he lost his child, but maybe it’s different now. Who really even knows. 

Louis shakes his head, still looking guilty. “No. Of course not. And I. . . I get why you’re mad, Harry, I really do. I just -- I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t care. And I didn’t go into work today to spite you, I went because I wanted to avoid arguing with you, which is probably even worse, but. I don’t know. I regretted it almost as soon as I left.”

“Did it make you feel better? Like you thought it would, did it?”

Hesitantly, Louis says, “Yes. Sort of. It was nice to think about something else. Something that doesn’t matter or remind me of Jack.”

And that’s not at all what Harry wanted to hear. At all. Because this fight -- it’s brought up a lot of emotions that Harry didn’t even know he was feeling. And Louis saying that makes him want to fucking cry; Harry doesn’t have a life to return to, there’s no parts of his life that are missing that he can get back. He has no job to go back to. But if Louis says working helps, then Harry won’t force him to be any more miserable than he already is. 

“Okay,” Harry says. He leans forward again, elbows on the table, and tries not to be selfish about this. “But you really can’t keep making decisions without me. I don’t care if you don’t think my input is necessary.”

Louis nods, visibly swallowing. “I know. I’m sorry.”

And Harry could let this go now, but he feels like he owes it to them to not avoid hard conversations right now. 

“You said that we don’t talk about anything important anymore,” Harry says slowly. “And if you feel like that, I’m sorry, really, but sometimes I just. . . sometimes I can’t talk about him. Sometimes it’s too hard.”

“No, I get that,” Louis tells him. “I feel the same way. I was just mad, I think, and being a dick, and I’m -- the last thing we needed was a fight right now, and I sort of single-handedly caused one, so I’m sorry. Seriously.”

Harry stands, as does Louis. They meet halfway to hug each other tightly, and it hurts far more than it should. It feels like Louis’ body is pressing against every single fresh bruise, lighting them on fire once more. But he will not pull away, not now, not ever.

“I know that you’re scared that I’ll be the next to leave,” Louis whispers, voice so careful like he knows those words are enough to make Harry panic. They do; he holds Louis tighter, closer, like he wouldn’t let him go if Louis ever tried to leave. “But I’m not going anywhere, love. I promise.”

-

Louis going back to work four days a week, eight hours a day, hurts. Badly. Every minute he’s gone feels like a slap in the face, every tantrum Madison has that Anne and Harry have to soothe on their own is like a punch in the gut, and every time Louis leaves in the morning, Harry swears today will be the day that he doesn’t come back. It’s wrong and unfair, and he recognizes that he’s projecting his fears onto innocent situations, but nobody can blame him for being vulnerable and scared. Louis is, too; he just shows it different ways. 

Most days, Harry still wakes up in the afternoon and does the bare minimum before crawling back into Jack’s bed at night. Around the fifth week of Louis returning to work, Anne starts encouraging him to go out more, for walks around the block or a trip to the store, and Harry refuses every time. He’s not ready to face the fact that other people’s lives didn’t stop just because his did. It’s been weeks and he still can’t even call his sister yet; there’s no way he’s venturing out to the shops, no matter how _good_ Anne thinks it will be for him. 

That doesn’t mean Anne doesn’t keep trying. 

With gentle hands, she shakes him awake on the twentieth of December. He’s curled up in Jack’s bed, one of his pillows hugged to his chest, and when her efforts finally wake him, he opens his eyes tiredly. 

“It’s almost four, baby,” she says softly, setting a hand on his cheek. “Me and Madison were going to run out to the store to pick some things up for dinner. I’d really like it if you came with us.”

He closes his eyes again, aggravated that this is what she woke him up for. “I don’t want to. Just go without me.”

“Baby,” she sighs. She sits on the bed beside him, and her hand shifts to his shoulder. He wants to be left alone. As the days draw on, there’s less and less of him that believes that there’s a point in getting out of bed. “That’s okay, if you really don’t want to. But it’s almost Christmas, darling, and I need to know now what you want that to look like.”

And Harry feels sick, suddenly, because they’re facing yet another first holiday without Jack. There’s not going to be a messy gingerbread house on the dining room table or two happy kids chasing each other or family mulling around their house. Harry and Louis always have the family Christmas party at their house, and that cancellation is unspoken but heard. Normal days hurt enough, but holidays that highlight exactly how much they’re missing are cruel. 

“Who’s doing the Christmas party this year, then?” Harry asks, and he feels defensive. Cheated. Not over the party, but over everything else. Life in general. 

This is all so tiring. 

“Your father.”

Harry rolls his eyes as he sits up in bed. There’s no reason for that to irritate him as much as it does. “He hasn’t even called me,’ he snaps, throwing the covers off him. “And he throws shit parties.”

“I told him to leave you be. And I know, he always has. You’re invited, of course, but nobody will be upset if you don’t want to go.”

“Obviously I don’t want to go,” he says, tone short.

“Okay, I understand. Do you. . . Maybe the four of us could go visit Jack’s grave, if you’re up for it.”

He thinks about all the people who will be there at Christmas, bundled up in winter coats and hunched in front of their loved one’s grave. That’s not what he wants; if he’s going to visit Jack, he wants complete privacy. 

“No.”

Anne frowns at him. “I just need to know what you want, baby. Do you want me to make dinner for the four of us, or would you rather me take Madison to the party? I want to help, but you have to tell me what I can do to do that.”

“We didn’t get much Christmas shopping done before everything happened,” he admits, and it makes him feel terribly guilty. He’s going to ruin Madison’s childhood with his grief, isn’t he? 

“I already have that taken care of.”

“Oh,” he says. “Well, then, like. . . I don’t want anything fancy. Just want to pretend like it’s a normal day. If Louis wants to do something though, then that’s. . . fine, I guess. I don’t know, but I’m staying home.”

“And that’s perfectly okay.” 

She leaves the room a few minutes later after telling him not to fall back asleep. He does it anyway. 

-

Christmas is somehow more terrible than Halloween. 

The only good part of the day, the only time that a little good can even attempt to thaw out the black ice weighing on Harry’s chest, is watching Madison open her gifts with a santa hat on her head and Jack’s slippers on her feet. The rest of the day is completely terrible. 

“I think I’m going to take Madison to your dad’s,” Anne tells them, just before dinner. She looks guilty, and she probably should, because her taking Madison away for the night is confirmation of the fact that Harry and Louis can’t fake happiness, not even for her, not even on today. 

Harry and Louis spend Christmas night with the hot cocoa Anne made before she left going cold on the coffee table, snow coming down hard outside, and the only channel on TV not playing stupid holiday movies tonight turned on. 

-

Harry finally visits Jack’s grave exactly a month later, and he’s alone. Because that’s what he always is lately: alone. Half the time when he wakes up now, Anne and Madison have gone out somewhere, sledding or to a friend’s or just out to the store. She told him a few nights ago that it’s because Harry sleeping half the day upsets Madison, and that she’s just trying to keep her busy until Harry wakes up. And this morning was no different: Harry jolted up in Jack’s bed, panting heavily in between deep sobs from a bad dream that he will not let himself think about, got out of bed, and found that the house was yet again empty. 

Jack cried out for him in the dream that Harry’s not letting himself think about, so Harry just. . . goes to him. He puts on a coat and a pair of boots, gets in his car, and goes to him. 

When Harry gets to the cemetery, he sits in the car for a straight hour as he debates whether or not he should do this. There would be no harm in it, if this wasn’t his first time coming here after the funeral. Louis hasn’t gone, as far as Harry knows, and he doesn’t want to hurt him somehow by coming here without him. He tries to call, and he leaves a voicemail to ask if it’d be alright if he went and saw Jack on his own, but Louis’ at work like he always is and Harry doesn’t get a response. 

In the hour that he sits there, two families leave, one car pulls in, he slams his hand against the radio to shut it off because he’ll lose his mind if he hears one more Christmas song, and it doesn’t stop snowing once. More and more snow piles around him outside, onto the graves, creating an even thicker layer between him and Jack. And he very nearly throws up when he thinks about what is now laying in the casket, in all the caskets around him. That’s so fucking morbid, isn’t it, but no part of this isn’t. 

The first thing he thinks when he finally gets out of the car is that he should’ve brought more than just a jacket. Guilt lashes him, berates him for thinking something so selfish, so casual, in a place like this. But it really is cold, and his thin pajama pants and worn wool coat isn’t doing much to keep that out.

He walks down the middle pathway, and he focuses on the noise of snow crunching under his boots. He turns left when it’s time, and then right, but when he finally looks up from the ground and to the gravestone in front of him, he realizes with a start that he doesn’t even remember where his own fucking son’s burial site is. CYNTHIA PETRA is not his Jack. His heart hammers in his chest, his lungs release ragged breaths, and his body gets so hot that he starts to sweat as he whips around, determined to check every grave in this goddamn cemetery until he finds him. But when he turns, he realizes that he did come to the right spot; he was just facing the wrong direction. And when he sees Jack’s name written there, a wounded sound rips its way out of his throat as he stumbles towards it, towards him, and falls onto the snow in front of the headstone. 

“Shit,” he curses through strained breaths, his hands curling around the slippery snow. The cold sends a shock up his body as he tries to calm himself down, but it doesn’t really help. The only thing that could possibly calm him down right now is gone, and it’s been over two months and somehow, Harry still can’t accept that. 

“I’m here, baby,” he says around a sob, and he grabs another fistful of snow, desperate to hold onto something, anything. And no, he didn’t magically stumble upon faith or suddenly buy into the idea of spirits, but if there’s even a fucking chance, then Harry isn’t going to lose the opportunity to talk to his son. Even if Jack isn’t listening, it’s okay, because Harry hasn’t talked very much about this aloud, and it hurts in the best way possible. 

By the time he gets through the _I miss you’s_ and the _I love you’s,_ he’s starting the _I’m sorry’s._ The words rip their way out of his throat, sometimes in anguished shouts and sometimes in horse whispers. He’s been sat there for two hours, now just staring at the gravestone with heavy eyes and sharp hiccups still managing to escape him, when a hand squeezes his shoulder. Harry whips around, ready to tell whoever the fuck it is to fuck off, and it’s Louis who stares back at him. 

“Your lips are blue, Harry. Jesus, get up.”

His face goes from soft and sad to worried and angry so quickly that it’s fascinating, almost. Harry doesn’t move quick enough, apparently, because Louis pulls him up by his underarm. He quickly undoes his scarf and wraps it around Harry’s neck before peeling off his gloves and giving them to Harry as well. Harry slowly puts them on, his fingers long past numb, as Louis unbuttons his jacket. 

“How long have you been out here?” Louis asks, and Harry doesn’t answer straight away, distracted once he realizes how dark it’s gotten and he hadn’t even noticed. 

“What time is it?” he asks eventually, while Louis is helping him put his coat on. 

“Seven. And you called me at four, but that better not mean you’ve been out here for three whole hours or I swear I’m driving you to a hospital.”

Harry shakes his head, pulling the coat shut around him as he walks forward. He doesn’t even feel cold anymore, not really, and right, yes, that’s probably not a good thing, but it’s not like he won’t warm up as soon as he gets in the car with the heat turned on. This is a simple problem he can fix, unlike everything else around him. 

“It’s only been two, then,” he answers as he walks towards the parking lot. Louis sighs behind him as he shoves a winter hat on Harry’s head. Harry reaches up to pull it down over his ears. 

“I’m not going to sit here and scold you,” Louis says after a moment, and he wraps his arms around Harry’s waist as they walk, keeping him close. “But if you go outside, act like you’re going out into the thick of an England winter, because you are. You’re no good to me if you’ve turned into ice.”

“He’s right there,” Harry says, turning slightly to point at the shrinking gravestone. Louis tugs him along. “He’s right there, Louis, you should -- you should say something, you should see him.”

“I already did,” Louis says, and Harry swears his knees almost give out as he turns to look at Louis, who sighs. “The night I first went back to work. I went and I -- ”

“ _Why_ don’t you tell me _anything_ anymore?” Harry shouts, yanking his way out of Louis’ hold. “Why can’t you ever just let me _be_ there with you when you _do_ these things?”

Louis looks a lot of things that Harry doesn’t have the energy to care about right now. “Lower your voice, Harry, you’re in a _cemetery_.”

“Am I not grieving up to your fucking _standards_ or something?” Harry screams, even louder this time. “You keep -- you keep doing all of these things, keep going ahead of me, and it’s -- God, I don’t even want to look at you right now,” Harry says, his voice petering out. “I don’t -- I don’t want to -- fuck.”

He turns around sharply to continue the walk towards the parking lot, twice the speed he was going before now. He rips the hat off his head and throws it on the cement, and he cries the entire time he gets to the car. It’s still snowing, and Louis hates driving in the snow, but Harry can’t find it in himself to offer to drive him back, not when Louis came here without him and didn’t even tell him. Harry at least _told_ him, at least _tried_ to ask if it was okay. 

As Harry pulls out of the driveway, away from Louis, who’s walking with his head hung and his hands shoved in his pockets on the way to his car, Harry tries to calm down and warm up. With the heat blasted, he forces himself to be objective here. And it doesn’t take much self-reflection for Harry to realize that Louis isn’t the only one screwing up here. Harry sleeps all day and doesn’t talk very much and refuses to leave home, but that’s -- at least he’s mostly just hurting _himself_ by doing that. Louis keeps doing things that hurt them both, and Harry can’t understand, he _can’t_ understand it. There’s no reason for Louis to continuously go out of his way to leave Harry out of something, and now it’s got Harry feeling awfully insecure and questioning if Louis’ always done this. 

It takes everything he has in him not to drive to one of his parent’s houses and spend the night there. It’s all he wants -- privacy and quietness and the absence of Louis and a child who will panic if she sees him this upset -- but he won’t do that to them. He can’t imagine how scary it would be for your dad to just not come home one night, no matter how much Anne and Louis would reassure her that he would be coming back. 

When he gets home, he wants to spend a few minutes in the car alone, but Louis’ going to be only a few minutes behind him and they’re not going to have this fight in the driveway. So, he takes a deep breath, wipes his tear-stained cheeks, and heads back into the cold. 

Cooper and Madison are both on him as soon as he steps inside, and Harry makes his greetings and kisses brief. He’s about to fall apart entirely, and he won’t do that in front of her. 

“I’ve got to go shower, baby,” he tells her, kissing her cheek. “You can tell me about your day later, yeah?”

“Okayy,” she agrees, and she lets go of him to go running back to the kitchen, Cooper following after her. 

Harry’s made it up three stairs when Anne opens up the bathroom door, and she looks at him with relief in her eyes. He stands there, staring back at her with nothing to say for himself, and Anne frowns. 

“Baby,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

Tears come rushing to his eyes again, and they bring some heat to his still-cold face. He bites down on his shaking bottom lip and shakes his head. “He’s such a prick,” he says, voice breaking off into a whisper. “Did you know?”

“Know what, Harry?”

“He visited Jack without me,” Harry tells her, and his voice is still choked down into a whisper. “He -- multiple times, probably, knowing how he’s been lately. And he didn’t tell me, and he,” he pauses to grip the railing to prevent himself from falling. “I went there, by myself, and I didn’t know where he was at first, for a second I couldn’t find him, and if Louis -- if he would have been there with me, he could’ve reminded me, but he wasn’t, and it’s,” he stops, shaking his head again. It hurts trying to talk through the tears, so he just stops. There’s no point. And Louis’ going to be home any second, and Harry doesn’t want to deal with him right now, so he ignores his mum’s sad look and completes his journey up the stairs. She follows after him, and Harry leads them to his room, the room he hasn’t slept in in weeks, so he can grab some warm clothes. 

“I didn’t know,” she tells him softly as he digs through his drawers. Having clean laundry feels wrong, like it should all be on the ground in dirty heaps. It would be, if it wasn’t for Anne. He sniffs and grabs a pair of his thicket sweatpants. 

“Doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“Yes, it does. If you’re upset, of course it matters.”

“Yeah, well.” Harry shrugs, shutting the drawer and heading to the bathroom. He flicks on the light with more force than necessary, and his mum watches him worriedly. “Not to him, apparently.” He pulls back the shower curtain and turns the faucet on, turning it to its highest setting. He’s still so fucking cold -- he was an idiot, today. 

“He’s scared of upsetting you,” Anne says, and he whips around to look at her, anger so fierce in his chest that it surprises even himself, a little bit. 

“Do _not_ defend him,” he snaps, waving his finger towards her. “I asked him to stop keeping me out of things, and he agreed to it _knowing_ that he had already visited our son, _our_ son. And -- and fuck that, Mum, I’m allowed to be upset.”

Her face softens even more. “Of course you are, sweetheart. And I’m not taking his side, because there are no sides in this. But we have talked, me and him, and he’s scared of making you feel rushed, so maybe this could be about that, I don’t know.”

Harry gives into the sadness again, letting it wash over him, as he slumps against the bathroom counter. “I wish I didn’t have to do that by myself today,” he says, and it practically comes out as a whimper. “And I know that I went without asking anyone to come with me, I know that, but if -- if he would’ve asked me when he first went, I would have come with him. I would have. And then I wouldn’t have had to do the first time alone. Neither of us would have had to be alone, if he would’ve just _asked_ me.”

The door opens from downstairs, and Harry stands up straight. He doesn’t have to ask his mum to leave; she does that on her own, after coming over to kiss his cheek. He shuts and locks the door behind her, and while he’s taking off his clothes, he swears he hears footsteps coming up the steps. Quickly, he steps into the shower, and the heat of the water sends a shock through his body, just like the cold from the snow had done earlier. 

-

Either the body wash Harry used in the shower is blocking it out, or Jack’s smell is slowly fading from the bedsheets. The idea makes him twist the blankets around him tighter, press his face against the pillow case closer. The pain that comes with finding new ways to lose Jack all over again is debilitating sometimes. 

Right after his shower, he made a beeline to Jack’s room and shut the door behind him, and nobody has bothered him since. It’s been nearly an hour, and the only sign of remorse from Louis was a lousy text sent a half hour ago that read, _I know you want your space from me, and I won’t invade that, but if you want to talk, please don’t hesitate. I love you._

Harry still hasn’t responded, even though the itch to text Louis back that he loves him, too, hasn’t yet left. 

It’s irritating, the way Louis completely knows when he has messed up. With May and visiting Jack, Louis knew immediately it was the wrong move. And even though he held his ground about going back to work so suddenly, Louis admitted he was wrong there, too. Harry’s far more stubborn when it comes to admitting fault, and it’s usually because he hates it when his always-good intentions don’t turn out so good. There’s never any malice behind it. And no, Louis isn’t malicious, either, it’s just. . . Harry’s so hurt right now that every disappointment feels like the final blow. 

Harry’s nearly asleep a few hours later when the door opens. He’s facing away from it, but he hears it, hears someone breathing, feels the shift in atmosphere. He opens his eyes but remains very still. If Louis wants to sleep in here, Harry won’t deny him of that, but that doesn’t mean he wants to talk right now. 

“Are you asleep?” Louis asks, voice soft. 

Hesitantly, Harry shakes his head. 

“I’ll leave you be, I promise. I know I’ve upset you. Again. I just wanted to say goodnight. And to tell you that I’m really sorry.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all. 

“You look cold,” Louis says, sighing. “Can I get you another blanket?”

All Harry does is shrug slightly, and Louis takes that as permission. Harry listens to him open Jack’s closet and pull out the blanket that he lays over Harry a few seconds later. Harry grips the blanket tightly, his fingers clinging to the sharks swimming on the fabric, as Louis pulls away. There’s no way of knowing how close he gets to the door before Harry whispers, “How many times did you go?”

He’s met with silence, and he clenches his eyes shut. 

“If it was more than once, I might actually kill you.”

“It wasn’t,” Louis is quick to say. “I swear on everything, it was just the one time. And I was only there for five minutes, maybe even less, because I felt guilty. And it was,” he sighs. “It wasn’t like I intentionally went out of my way to go there. It was on the way to the venue, I swear, and I just wanted to see him. I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“It’s not that you didn’t ask,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It’s that you didn’t _tell_ me.”

Louis sighs again, and he sounds like he might say something, but before he can, Harry asks him not to. He’s too tired to do this right now, he says, and Louis understands. They say I love you before Louis closes the door behind him, leaving Harry alone even though that’s not entirely what he wanted. 

He takes a deep breath and curls further into the blankets. The new blanket, the one with the sharks, smells so much more like Jack than the bedsheets do, and Harry clings to it. He falls asleep crying weakly with his face pressed against the blanket.

-

They never end up talking about that day. The fight and the fact that Louis hid something from him goes completely unresolved, even when they both know they shouldn’t let it. Louis doesn’t like when there’s no closure to an argument, and Harry’s already paranoid enough that they’re in a bad place, but neither of those things matter because they don’t sit down to talk through it like they normally do. It gets swept up under the rug, ignored. 

It wouldn’t matter as much, Harry thinks, if the night prior to that argument wasn’t the last night they slept in the same bed. Harry continues sleeping in Jack’s room, night after night cramped in that bed with Cooper, and Louis goes back to their room. They don’t talk about it, and they don’t fight about it; they just ignore that, too. But _fuck_ , Harry hates sleeping alone. 

The weeks start adding up and Louis keeps working and Harry keeps waking up in the middle of the afternoon to an empty house. In month five, February, he starts answering a few calls, desperate to stop feeling so lonely. But nobody, not Gemma or Liam or Harry’s father, says any of the right things. Harry’s pretty sure there aren’t any right things to be said, which is. . . That makes him feel even more lonely. And he decides that, if loved ones can’t make him feel any better, maybe strangers can. He makes this decision on a random morning that Anne shakes him awake and tries to convince him to come out. 

“We’re going out to the store,” she tells him. “I have some things to pick up, and then I was going to drop off some leftovers to your sister. Scott’s not even home today, love. You should come with. I know Mads would love it if you did.”

Harry stares up at the ceiling as he contemplates. Normally, his decline is quick and thoughtless, so if he’s thinking about this, maybe he should just go. It’s not like he can’t handle going to the store. 

“How long will you be out for?” he asks skeptically. 

“We’ll take a half hour, tops, at the store.”

Harry sighs, turning his head to look at her. She always looks so worried about him these days. As the disconnect between Harry and Louis worsens, so does her worry. “I’ll come,” he agrees hesitantly. “But only if you swear it won’t be that long.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek and nods. “It won’t be long, love, I promise. Get dressed and I’ll grab you some breakfast that you can eat in the car, okay?”

He bites on his bottom lip, unsure if that pressure in his chest is regret or nerves, and nods. 

And then he finds himself walking into Tesco’s with his daughter’s hand held tightly in his. She’s excited that he’s here, judging by the way her fingers get wiggling in his hand and the grins she keeps shooting up at him. As soon as they get inside, though, Madison lets go of his hand and shoots off towards a stand of muffins nearby, and while she’s running, he stares at her, wondering if she’s grown since Jack died or if he’s making it up. 

Anne places a steady hand on his arm as she guides them towards Madison, who has a box of blueberry muffins in her hand and a pout on her lips before either of them have told her no. 

“Get the banana ones, at least,” Harry mumbles, moving past her to grab the box of banana muffins. “Blueberries are gross.”

Madison looks offended. “Daddy likes blueberries.”

Harry just smiles tightly at her. 

It’s not like Harry and Louis are having problems, per say. Because he’s pretty to qualify for having problems, you’d have to at least talk to the person. Harry and Louis’s conversations have been reduced to _good mornings_ and _good nights_. They sometimes are part of the same conversation going on at the dinner table, but that’s different. Harry and Louis haven’t talked, properly talked, since. . . He tries to think. Since the night of that fight, probably. 

Anne is at the meat counter while Harry watches Madison touch absolutely everything she possibly can in the aisle nearby. She’s not causing any harm, so he decides not to ruin her fun. She is fiddling with some overpriced hand towels when a couple holding hands walk by. The woman is mid-laugh when she says, “You’re planning on going to New York next year and I can’t even afford the name-brand noodles.”

God. New York. That’s one of Harry’s favorite cities, probably. As a kid, his dad would take him there all the time to meet with his fancy business friends. Harry was usually confined in a hotel, but it didn’t matter: he was still in New York. Harry took Louis there, once. It was between semesters at uni, and Harry had too much fun showing off his money back then. Harry mostly just remembers them fucking absolutely everywhere, in hotels and limos and in the bathroom at a concert. 

Harry used to take Louis to a lot of places. 

Perth was fun. Hawaii was probably Louis’ favorite. The trip they took with Gemma and Scott a few years back to Malibu was spent with morning margaritas and talking about the family life that they were both just on the cusp of reaching. Their month-long trip in France was amazing, too, aside from when Harry had food poisoning. Spain, South Korea, Florida -- there wasn’t a single place they didn’t have fun in. Where Harry didn’t feel like he was on the top of the world with the love of his life. 

God. New York. Maybe they should go. Maybe -- before Madison has to go to school, maybe they should just go, they should just leave. For good, even. Leave England for the States altogether, because from where Harry sits, London has been completely tainted and he’s never been anything other than a big-city kid. 

“What are you thinking about, hmm?” Anne asks, suddenly by his side again. She has a cut of ham in the basket now, and she’s looking at him, for once, with something other than concern. As she touches his cheek, she says, “You look happy.”

“New York,” he tells her. “Getting the hell out of here.”

“New York is always a fun time, isn’t it?”

Harry nods, and he’s about to tell her about the time he and Louis accidentally stole someone’s bag at the airport, but before he can, she’s pushing past him and saying, “Oi, Madison, do not rip that tag off.”

God, Harry thinks again. Fucking New York. Or anywhere else, really. . . They could go anywhere. There’s nothing keeping them here anymore. Harry’s pretty sure there never really was. 

-

New York stays a quiet place in Harry’s head that he goes to when he needs to get away. The lights, the people, the atmosphere -- it’s all so clear in Harry’s mind. And since it’s the only thing that makes him happy anymore, thinking about being young and running around in a big city with Louis, he keeps it tucked safely away from anyone else’s reach. 

-

-

Come August, absolutely nothing has changed, but somehow, there is still room for things to lift, a bit. For the pressure on Harry’s chest to loosen up. Maybe -- _maybe_ \-- he’s starting to accept that this is his life now. And that definitely shouldn’t make him so sad, thinking about getting used to a life without Jack, but it does anyway. 

The twins’ birthday is the first holiday after losing Jack that they spend together properly. Out of all the celebrations, it should be the hardest, and it is, in some ways. It’s incredibly difficult to try and have a normal, happy occasion with one of the lights in Harry’s life burnt out. They try anyway, deciding that Jack loved his sister with everything he had and would not want her to keep losing out on things because of his death. 

In the morning, Harry and Louis find themselves standing in front of the bathroom mirror together, Harry brushing his teeth and Louis shaving. The tension between them is hard to explain; it’s not like they’re mad at each other, or completely icing each other, it’s just. . . different. Maybe all it is is different, and Harry’s just taking it to heart. 

Harry’s spitting into the sink when Louis asks, “Do you even remember anything from when you were four?” He’s looking at Harry in the mirror, and Harry stares back, wondering where exactly that’s coming from. 

“Um,” he says, and he washes out his mouth quickly before standing up straight again. He leans against the counter, still looking at Louis through the mirror. “I don’t know.”

“What’s your earliest memory, then?”

Harry squints as he tries to think. Flashes of all sorts of memories flood his brain, but he finds the one that he was the youngest in. “When I was, like. . . three or four, I think, our dog got into the trash and ate a can. I remember that. It was terrible. Why?”

“I think my earliest memory is from when I was around six. When my mum was pregnant with Lottie,” he says. “I was thinking about that last night. About, like. The probability that she won’t remember him.”

“They’re twins,” Harry says quietly, swallowing. “And they were really close, I don’t. . . I don’t think she’ll forget him entirely.”

“We can’t let her,” Louis tells him, and he turns his head so he’s not looking at Harry’s reflection, but at him directly. He looks so serious, now, even with only half his face shaven. 

“Of course we won’t.”

“She still talks about him every day. The minute that stops, we have to become the ones to talk about him.”

Harry nods, and because Louis looks _so_ \-- horrified, almost, he reaches forward to touch Louis’ arm. “We won’t let him be forgotten, Louis. We won’t let him fade away.” He steps behind Louis, then, and he presses a chaste kiss to Louis’ shoulder as Louis briefly touches his hand. As Harry heads downstairs, he realizes that that’s exactly what they’re letting happen to their relationship: it's fading. They just had a rare moment of tenderness, though, so he tries to ignore it. 

Scott, Gemma and their littles ones come over for dinner, along with two of Louis’ sisters, Daisy and Fizzy. They’re the only ones without kids, Harry immediately notices, and he wonders if that was a conscious decision or not.

They all gather around the dining room table, Louis’ family on one side of the family and Harry’s on other. Anne and Harry take the seats at the head of the table, and she has baby Pete in her arms as the rest of them eat dinner. Madison sits between Harry and Charlie, across from Louis, and she looks happier than she has in months. 

The dinner isn’t awkward or uncomfortable in any way, really. It’s kind of nice, actually, even though Harry doesn’t say much. Listening to everyone else talk is fine for him. The best part of the night is that Madison and Charlie butt heads over absolutely everything. First it’s over who gets to sit by Harry, and then it’s who gets the peas first, and then it’s over who was talking first. Madison and Jack never really bickered like this, so he doesn’t know why it reminds him of their dynamic so much. But it does, and Harry can’t keep his eyes off of them, smiling when Madison secretly kicks Charlie under the table instead of scolding her like he should. 

Halfway through dinner, Harry stands to fulfill his mother’s request of more coffee, and Charlie looks at him with these wide, precious eyes as he asks, “Uncle Harry? More juice, please?”

It melts his heart while also hardening it all at once. He’s jealous of his sister’s kids, of course he is, and he wants to scoop them all up and whisk them away. He just misses his little boy so, so much, and Charlie isn’t him, but it’s the closest to Jack that he’s gotten in months. And that’s morbid, but none of this isn’t. 

“‘Course, bud,” he says softly. “Mads? You want some, too?”

“The purple kind,” she says, holding her cup out to Harry. Charlie does the same, and Madison stretches over to try and get hers closer. He takes both of them, smiling gently, before grabbing his mum’s mug as well and heading to the kitchen. 

It’s not fair, he thinks for the millionth time as he pours his mum’s coffee. Jack’s years of life could be counted on one hand, and there’d still be an extra finger. He couldn’t even see five, and for what? Harry can’t accept it, not when there’s no reason for this to have happened. It wasn’t his time, but his clock ran out anyway, and that’s just not fair. There’s no point in trying to accept something that isn’t right. 

But he sings happy birthday to his daughter. He manages to hold back tears while she opens her gifts, Louis’ hand in his. When she blows out the candles, he claps. And those are all small forms of acceptance in themselves, and Harry tries to be proud of himself for that. 

The night is still draining, though, which is how he winds up sitting outside on the couch with Cooper tucked against his legs while everyone else is still inside. He said he was just going to let the dog out for the bathroom, but that was nearly a half hour ago. The quiet out here is peaceful, something he desperately craves on days where people are crowding his home. When the door opens, he’s not exactly surprised that someone came looking for him. It’s Gemma, and _that_ surprises him. He thought it would be Louis or his mum. And she has Pete in her arms, and Harry makes a sad sound as he reaches out for him. 

“Can I hold him?” he asks, and Gemma immediately obliges him, coming over to hand her son off. Harry holds him carefully against his chest as he studies his little fingers and dark eyelashes and chubby little cheeks. He’s sleeping, and as he snores softly, spit collects around his mouth. Harry carefully wipes it away with his sleeve. 

“Your kid’s got a crooked nose,” Harry says, even though it’s not true. He just doesn’t want Gemma feeling bad for him. They all can’t hide their kids from him forever. She laughs, sounding a little surprised, before sitting on the opposite side of Cooper. 

“He misses Jack, doesn’t he?” Gemma whispers as she strokes Cooper’s fur. Cooper’s staring at the baby, but he hasn’t made a move to touch him yet because Harry hasn’t told him he could. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, lowering his arms down a bit so Cooper can see Pete better. “Go ahead, Coop,” he says, and he can see Gemma shift nervously but all Cooper does is set his chin on Harry’s arm, his face next to Pete’s head. “I feel bad for him. He has no idea where Jack went. They were best friends, you know.”

Gemma keeps petting Cooper’s back. “Yeah, I know.”

While staring down at his baby nephew, he remembers the conversation he had with Louis this morning and squeezes Pete’s foot. “Your kids aren’t going to remember him,” he says, not exactly meaning to say it out loud. 

Gemma frowns at him. “Haz.”

“What, are you going to say it’s not true?” Harry asks. His tone isn’t harsh, but it’s not gentle, either. “You don’t have to lie to me to make me feel better. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I’ll tell them about him, Harry, I promise.”

Harry shakes his head. “That’s not the same and you know it.”

A silence falls, because of course one does. Harry’s being a little aggressive, and she must not want to push him. He’s thankful for it, because he doesn’t want to fight. It lasts for only a few minutes, a shriek coming from inside the one to break it. They both hesitate, wondering if that had a little too much strength in it to ignore, but it’s quickly followed by loud laughs. 

“That was your kid,” Gemma mumbles with a small smile on her face. As Harry offers one in response, he sits back against the couch more, adjusting his hold on Pete. 

“I swear she’s becoming a bit more outgoing than she used to be,” he says with a small shrug. “Makes me wonder if we ignored her a little too much.”

“I’m sure she’s just overcompensating,” Gemma tells him, and Harry nods. 

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Gemma sighs quietly and crosses her ankles. She looks fairly put-together considering Pete is still so little. Harry had to deal with two little babies all by himself all day, which is probably a little different, but it still would have been a handful with just the one.

“Mum tells me you and Louis aren’t talking very much,” Gemma says, bursting Harry’s happy memory of the first time she got to meet the twins. “Are you two having problems?”

“Not really,” Harry says quietly. “Just not talking very much. We still love each other, and all that.”

“I know _that_. Anyone could see that from how he looks at you. But are you guys going to be okay?”

And Harry doesn’t have the energy to answer that. He really doesn’t. He asks himself the same question hundreds of times a day, and half the time there’s no reason to be thinking that and he’s just being insecure. Thinking about what he might lose is exhausting when he’s lost so much already. 

So, instead of answering, Harry looks down at Pete and says, “I want to go to New York.”

It’s the first time he’s said that aloud, and it’s because he was hoping to avoid the exact reaction she gives him: a small, shocked laugh that goes quiet, followed by a, “Oh. Oh, Harry, you’re serious.”

He snorts. “Yeah.”

“Then go, love,” she says, picking her hand off of Cooper to touch his shoulder. “Take Louis and take Madison and go. New York is so nice this time of year.”

“But what if Louis says no?”

“Then go without him,” Gemma says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like if Louis even thought about doing that to him, it wouldn’t make Harry upset. Like they didn’t just lose their son a few months ago, and going on a spontaneous trip to New York isn’t exactly appropriate. 

“Yeah?” he asks, scoffing. “You would do that to Scott?”

“I have before, and I'd do it again. Just ‘cause he’s your husband doesn’t mean he has to go everywhere with you. Mum could watch Maddie.”

Harry doesn’t think he’ll actually bring it up. He doesn’t hate the idea of keeping that happy place in his head, untouched and to himself. But that night, after everyone’s gone home, Anne and Madison have gone to sleep, and Harry’s given up on pretending like he has the energy to clean the kitchen, he walks out into the living room to see Louis sitting on the couch. He’s watching TV with the volume on low, and when he sees Harry, he gives him a small smile. 

Harry hesitates slightly. He could do the easy thing and go crawl into bed by himself, or do the very, very difficult thing of carrying a conversation with Louis. Most likely contemplating the same thing as Harry, Louis slowly pats the spot next to him. Which causes Cooper to come and lay next to him instead of Harry, and it pulls a genuine smile out of both of them. Harry follows after him and, without letting himself think about it much, carefully lowers himself behind Cooper and rests his head on Louis’ lap. 

For the longest second of Harry’s life, the universe is still. And then Louis sets his hand on Harry’s hip, the other going to rest on the back of his head. It’s what convinces Harry to close his eyes and say, “Will you come to New York with me?”

A small laugh, a slight pause, a, “Wait, really?”

Harry nods. 

“Is there something you have to do there, or is this just. . . for fun?”

Harry swallows thickly. “It’s for a break. We need a break.” And then, weakly, “I need a break, Louis.”

“Okay,” he says, and Harry doesn’t know why he was so scared he’d say no. “Yeah, love, we can do that. You pick out the days, and I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow, okay? It’d be good to get Maddie somewhere before she starts school, anyway. Like we were talking about before.”

Harry doesn’t know why he’s crying, so he ignores it. That’s not important. What is important, though, is that even though they still don’t sleep in the same bed tonight, they fall asleep together on the couch, cuddled closer than they have been in ages. 

-

Harry has never been a huge fan of snow before, but as he stares out into the backyard with an August sun beating down, making him sweat even though he’s under the patio’s awning, he misses the winter. In the winter, he had an excuse other than Jack not to go out. Nobody wants to go out in shit weather if they can help it. And whenever he sat in the backyard, he got to feel protected under his thick clothes and blanket, not exposed like he is now in his short-sleeved shirt and shorts. He has his legs pulled up towards him and his arms crossed over his chest to try and relieve some of that odd, lingering anxiety he’s been getting lately. Feeling exposed in his own backyard -- he’s not quite sure what that means. 

Madison’s is running around the backyard with Cooper, and Anne’s near the back-fence line, taking care of the flowers back there. They used to have a gardener; Harry’s not exactly sure when that stopped, or if it was Anne or Louis’ call. The neighbors are outside, too. Since their privacy fence stands tall, they can’t see them, but they can certainly hear them. The peace Harry once felt out here in the winter is now gone, summer coming to shine a light over all the parts of his life that he’s trying to ignore. 

And Louis is at work, because he’s always at work now. It’s wrong to feel put-out by that because he knows full-well they’d only be managing small talk if Louis were out here with him, but at least he’d be _with_ him. Harry doesn’t know if that makes him selfish, wanting Louis close while also pushing him away. He does know, though, that last night, with his head in Louis’ lap, he slept the best he had in a while. Even when Cooper kicked him in the stomach as he jumped up to go investigate a noise outside, even when Louis carefully moved out from under him to get ready for work.

The only reason why he’s sitting out here right now is because his mum asked him to. She said something about that he was too pale, too skinny, too tired, and he _was_ too tired, so he didn’t fight her on it as he followed everyone outside. 

He glances up from his fingernails in time to see Madison fall, hard. She hesitates, almost looking like she’s debating on if she should cry or not, before she picks herself back up and turns around to see if Cooper caught up to her yet. Her knees looked a little scuffed up, though, and it absolutely should not take this much effort to call out and ask her if she’s alright. 

“Cooper’s too fast,” is what she says with a giggle, and Harry takes that as a yes. Anne has turned slightly to look over her shoulder at them, and she, too, seems to think it’s fine, so she goes back to the dirt. Sometimes Harry feels like she knows their kids better than he does. After a few seconds, she stands, wipes her pants off, and comes over to him. He’s feeling particularly shitty today, so he doesn’t want to talk even more than normal. He looks down at his fingernails again, hoping his disinterest is clear. 

“You’re not going to get any less pale by sitting in the shade,” she tells him, a hand on her hip. “Come on, come help me pull out some weeds. There are loads.”

“I don’t want to. I’m fine.”

“But you’re not,” she says sadly, and Harry scoffs at her, throwing his hands up. 

“Of course I’m not,” he snaps. “But talking about it every two seconds isn’t going to help.”

Normally, she’d back off. Apologize, maybe. But maybe she’s feeling shitter than normal, too, because she shakes her head at him. “You have gone out _once_ since everything happened, Harry.”

He rolls his eyes. “Twice, if we’re counting the funeral.”

“I just don’t think this is healthy.”

“You know what I don’t think is healthy?” Harry asks hotly. “Going back to work a month after your son died. And I had to shut up about that, so you can shut up about this. Do not tell me how to grieve and don’t tell me how quickly I should be doing it. I’m so sick of people making me feel inadequate.”

“Please lower your voice,” Anne says quietly, and Harry shoots a look at Madison, fully expecting her to be running around, completely oblivious, but she’s stopped in the center of the grass, staring at him as she pets Cooper. He gives her a quick smile, and he nods at her, but he’s not going to sit here and be nice when he has made it very clear he’s not feeling particularly nice right now.

Quieter, he says sarcastically, “Please don’t air out how my husband and I are handling the loss of our son to my sister.”

“She’s your _sister,_ Harry, come on.”

“Louis has barely talked to his family in any of this,” Harry shoots back, because he hasn’t and it’s worrying the fuck out of Harry but he doesn’t know what to say to him. Unless Louis’ calling his family on the way to or from work, then he’s not at all. It’s rare for him to bring them up in conversation at dinner, too, and yesterday Daisy said that their mum is hoping he’ll call again soon. “Have you told any of _his_ sisters?”

“None of them are my daughters, are they?”

And, well. Fair point. But whatever. “I just want privacy right now,” he tells her. “From everyone, including Gemma and including random people at the supermarket. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

New York hangs heavy on his mind, the pull that goes against everything Harry just said. He’s not going to bring it up to Louis again; if Louis wants to go, then he can be the one to mention it. Harry doesn’t want to drag him somewhere he doesn’t want to go. Because Gemma was wrong about him: Harry doesn’t want to go anywhere that Louis isn’t right by his side. So if Louis doesn’t want to go, then Harry isn’t going at all. 

“I just want you to start thinking about the future,” Anne says, finally going soft on him. 

Harry frowns. “The future’s all I can think about. That’s all I can see, all these things that he won’t be around for.”

“I want you to start thinking about _your_ future, baby.”

Sharply, Harry says, “Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean I stopped being a father to him. I still have two kids, I still have pieces of him, and he will always be everywhere with me, in every single one of the days ahead. Don’t you dare insinuate anything otherwise.”

“I wasn’t, sweetheart, I promise.” She sits down beside him on the swing and wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him close. He goes, only because her being next to him is reducing how exposed he still feels. “Absolutely nobody is judging you. You or Louis, for absolutely anything. You do know that, right?”

“I guess,” he says, tired.

“And Jack will always be your son,” she whispers. “Of course he will be. He’ll be as permanent as that tattoo of yours.” She swipes her finger over the spot where the kids’ names are on his hand, and it makes him shudder. “It’s okay to be sad, love. And it’s okay to be angry and tired and whatever else you’re feeling. So long as you don’t fade away on me, yeah? Because even if I don’t have the tattoo to prove it, you’re still pretty permanent to me, and I don’t want to lose you in any way.”

That’s an ignorant thing to say to someone who’s just lost his son, Harry’s pretty sure. Her intentions are pure, though, and Madison’s only now just gone back to running with Cooper, so all he says is, “Yeah, well. Won’t believe you ‘til you get that tattoo, I’m afraid.”

She laughs, pulling him closer. 

-

That night, Harry’s still feeling even worse than normal, so he retreats to the basement to be by himself. He’s too edgy to be around people right now, and he doesn’t want to teach Madison that it’s okay to make everyone else upset just because you are. He doesn’t bring anything to distract himself with, and Cooper stays upstairs with Madison. Staring at the ceiling with a blanket pulled over him, Harry just lies there, waiting for it to hit an appropriate time to go to bed. 

Harry has worked himself up to tears and calmed himself down three times over by the time Louis comes home. There’s the usual sliding of Cooper’s nails across the hardwood floor, loud noise from Madison, faint talking. Harry closes his eyes, trying to picture it. 

He must be in the kitchen now, because Harry can hear Louis say, “Where’s Haz?”

“Downstairs,” his mum says. “Been down there for about three hours now, and he didn’t want dinner.”

“Does he seem okay, though?”

“No.”

“Was it just a rough day?”

“Every day is a rough day for him,” Anne says with a sigh. “I don’t think this is just sadness or mourning, I think he’s legitimately depressed. He doesn’t have anything else to focus on like you do. Which isn’t your fault, of course, but it’s. . . it’s troubling him, I think. And I don’t quite know what to do about it.”

“Well, we’re going to New York,” Louis says, and the way he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he didn’t even consider turning down Harry’s ask, stings like a blow to the stomach. He doesn’t even know why. There’s happiness and adoration as shockwaves from the blow, evening out the feeling. 

“What, you are?” Anne sounds shocked.

“Aren’t we?” Now Louis sounds confused, too. “I mean, I bought the four of us tickets today. I thought if he was asking me, then he’d have already brought it up to you.”

There’s a small pause, and then his mum says, “Well, I guess that’s good. He needs to be excited for something.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s _excited._ Said he just needed a break. He sounded the furthest thing from excited about it.”

Madison comes running into the kitchen, and she talks so fast that Harry doesn’t have the energy to keep track of what she’s saying. It ends with Louis telling her that he has to talk to Daddy first, but he’ll be right there, so Harry forces himself to sit up, wrapping the blanket around him tighter. 

“I think he needs to hear that you’re still struggling, too,” Anne says quietly, like she’s just now realized that the steps to the basement are just outside of the kitchen. “He seems to think he’s the only one still doing poorly. He told me that he feels inadequate, or something. . . like we’re upset with him for not being better yet.”

“He _knows_ I’m still doing shit.”

“Does he?” Anne asks, echoing Harry’s thought of, _Is he really?_

Feet come dropping on the steps faster than Harry’s prepared for, and he quickly tucks his feet under the covers and grabs his phone so it looks like he wasn’t just laying here doing nothing all day while Louis was at work. He doesn’t look up from his unanswered texts until Louis reaches the bottom step. 

It’s nearly fascinating, the way Harry’s heart starts racing by the slightest things anymore. He’s so nervous all of the time, over nothing. And emotional, too, because when Louis opens his coat up to grab what looks to be plane tickets out of his pocket, Harry has tears burning his eyes when he reaches for them. 

“You didn’t get a return flight,” Harry points out as he reads the ticket. August ninth; that’s in three days. They’re going to New York in three days, and Louis’ right: what he’s feeling is the furthest thing from excitement. 

“I didn’t know how long you wanted to stay,” Louis says, sitting down beside Harry. He steals a bit of the blanket to drape over himself, and instinctively, Harry moves closer to him. “I was bored at work, and I thought buying the tickets in the first place without asking you was pushing it, you know, ‘cause I really am trying to be more transparent with you. I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“Mum wouldn’t want to be away for more than a few days,” Harry says as he thumbs over the edge of the paper. 

“Then she can fly home on her own, if you aren’t ready to leave yet. This was your idea, you know. It’s about you.” Hesitantly, “About us.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He just nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat that only gets worse when Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s middle and pushes him down gently. _He’s been touchy lately,_ Harry thinks, which also makes him sad because even when Jack was sick, they were never not touchy. They’ve never been anything other than completely steady. 

Louis kisses his temple, and Harry’s eyes slip shut. “I know you just need to hear it sometimes,” Louis whispers, voice so close to Harry’s ear that it sends a chill up his spine. “I know you’re worried about it, so if you need to hear me say it, tell me and I’ll tell it to you over and over again: I’m not going anywhere, love. You still have me. You’ll always have me.”

That insecurity is one of Harry’s biggest, and he has no clue where it came from or how it developed a spot next to his heart. His parents are divorced, yes, but it wasn’t anything too messy. It could have been, considering they hadn’t gotten a prenup, but it wasn’t. Harry’s not insanely close with his father, but he was always, _always_ , under Anne’s arm as a kid. Maybe that’s it, then: he’s never been by himself, not really. Or maybe it’s because Louis was the first thing in Harry’s life that wasn’t just given to him. Louis fell in love with him quite quickly, but he still had to earn his trust and respect and all that. Before the kids, Louis was the first real thing in Harry’s life aside from family that he didn’t want to live without and couldn’t easily replace if he had to. It could even boil down to the fact that Harry thought from the get-go that he wouldn’t have a chance with Louis because he was a spoiled rich kid; that drove him to go to university, so it wouldn’t be hard to believe that’s really all this is about. 

He doesn’t know. He’ll probably never know. What he does know, however, is that the fear is very much alive in his chest, because it burns bright when Louis tells him that it isn’t true. 

-

“Daddy?”

Harry turns away from the pile of laundry he’s folding and putting away in Jack’s room. There had been a load of his clothes in the wash, apparently, and they’ve been downstairs ever since. Harry found them sitting folded neatly near the washing detergent, and when Harry carried them from the laundry room downstairs, Anne told him she didn’t know what to do with them and she was too afraid to ask. 

Madison’s standing at the doorway, teetering on her feet a bit. She has her backpack on, the one Anne bought with her last week. She’s been wearing it every excuse she can get. Today’s excuse is that Anne and her are going on shopping for a few things they’ll bring with them to New York tomorrow, and she wants somewhere new to show it off. 

“Yeah, baby?”

Hesitantly, she crosses the threshold into Jack’s room and hurries over to his side. Tucking her fingers into the opening of his sweats’ pocket, Madison asks, “Can we do more school shopping? When we get back from the trip?”

Harry grabs Jack’s orange t-shirt with a ketchup stain on the front of it and folds it before putting in the correct drawer. “Didn’t Grandma take you the other day?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t get everything.”

He snorts, looking down at her again. She sat Harry and Louis down and showed them everything they bought, item by item. There’s no way she missed anything. “What are you missing?”

She pouts. “Lots of things, Daddy.”

“I think you’ve got quite enough, love. But if you remember something you need, tell Grandma and she’ll get it for you, okay?”

Anne and Des did a good job at raising two kids without either of them turning into a complete spoiled brat, and he intends on doing the same. He won’t say yes to her for everything just because he can afford to. 

“But I want you to come,” she says, tugging on his sweatpants. 

Harry sighs quietly. “We’ll be going places in New York, okay? All of us. I promise.”

“Okay,” she agrees, not sounding as happy as he thought she would. She moves to rest her head on his leg, and he frowns, placing his hand on her head. 

“What’s wrong, baby bee?”

He’s expecting it to be about Jack, or Harry being inside all the time, or about him and Louis. Instead, she whispers, “I don’t wanna go to school, Daddy,” and that’s -- he can do that. He can handle this. 

“Why not, love?” Harry asks, bending down so he can look her in the eye. And she does look proper upset; so upset that Harry frowns and pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist under her polka-dotted backpack. 

“I don’t know anybody.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “Nobody goes to school already having friends. That’s what school is for, for you to get to know people. And learn, obviously.”

She hooks her arms around his neck, cuddling closer, and Harry’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. “Why can’t you make me learn?”

“I do, baby. Every day. But there are things that a teacher can teach way better than I could. And I’ll help you, of course. If you need it, I’ll be there. It’s not scary, bug, I promise.”

“What if my teacher is mean? Olive -- her teacher _yelled_ at her.”

“Then me and Dad will take care of it,” he promises. “They won’t be, though. Her name is Ms. Johnson, and I haven’t met her yet, but I’m sure she’s very sweet.”

When the kids were still in diapers, Harry and Louis were in complete disagreement about where their kids would be going to school. Harry wanted private schools through and through, from kindergarten all the way up, but Louis was not into that at all. In the end, after a lot of talking, Harry got his way with the easy stipulation that if at any time the kids wanted to switch to public schools, then they could. And no, Harry isn’t exactly pleased they want him to send his five-year-old to school in a uniform, but it’s a simple shirt and trousers -- none of that skirt bullshit -- and she can do her hair however she would like. Harry doesn’t intend on sending his kids to as strict of a private school as he went to, either, which also helped ease Louis’ apprehensions. The only thing Harry’s looking for is the best schools. 

“I’ll be there _all_ day.”

“It’s four and a half hours, babe,” he says, laughing. “That’s nothing. And I think you get, like, two breaks. You’ll be fine, my love, I promise. You make friends easy.”

Her fingers dig into his shoulders before she whispers, ever so softly like it’s a secret, “I wish Jack could come, Daddy.”

And fuck, it hurts. It burns a fire so hot in his stomach that it physically _hurts._ Tears rush to his eyes, and he squeezes them shut, trying to keep his composure. “I know, baby,” he grits out. “I know, me too. But he’s -- ” he hesitates, wondering if she’s too little to properly understand the ‘he’s always with us’ talk. “You can think about him,” he whispers. “You can take him with you that way, right? If you think about him.”

She murmurs, “I guess.”

Before he can stop himself -- and he really should, because he’s in no position to make a promise so big -- he says, “What if I was the one to take you there and pick you up every day, hmm? Do you think that would make it a little easier?”

“Yes, please.”

Harry scoops her up, then, and she latches onto him tightly, giggling quietly as he bounces her on his hip. It feels a little wrong doing this in Jack’s room, even though he knows that it doesn’t make a difference, just like putting away his laundry won’t, either. 

“I met your dad through school, you know,” he tells her, and he kisses her cheek. 

“You did?” She’s giving him a proper smile now, like he finally found the right thing to say to ease her nerves. 

“Yep. Your uncle Liam, too. And Dad met Uncle Niall and Zayn at his school. I’m telling you, love, you’ll be just fine.”

“You promise?”

He swallows, his hold on her tightening. There are things he has promised in the past that he maybe shouldn’t have, but this won’t be one of them. It can’t be. She’ll be _fine_.

“I promise, baby bee,” he tells her, stroking his hand over her hair. He misses Jack’s curly hair, how his fingers would get tangled in it and Jack would whine, batting his hand away. He misses a lot of things, but feeling like he’s helping someone is one of them, and he managed to do that right now just fine. 

-

“We totally did not have to fly first-class, you know,” Louis tells him with a small scowl as he crosses his legs out in front of him and leans back as if he’s not enjoying it. 

“Are you really complaining?” Harry asks, bumping his elbow with his own. “You’ve always liked flying first-class before, anyway.”

“We’re literally teaching Madison that this world favors people with more money, and that’s okay because we benefit from it.”

Harry shrugs, because yes, maybe that’s true, but him sticking his kid in the economy seats isn’t going to fix the world, is it? And she looks completely content sitting next to Anne, her head resting on Anne’s arms as they watch _Winnie the Pooh_ together. Harry doesn’t see a good enough reason to change that. 

“It’s a long flight,” he says eventually. “It was worth the investment. She’s going to start getting fussy after, like, an hour, and I’m sure the people back there don’t want to deal with that.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he grabs Harry’s hand, probably to show he’s not actually mad. It calms Harry down a bit, which is odd, considering he didn’t even notice himself starting to get worked up. 

“Jack would’ve been a nightmare during a flight,” Louis mumbles, shaking his head, and it makes Harry smile. It’s a sad one, but a smile nonetheless. He didn’t just burst into tears like he normally does. 

“The worst,” he agrees softly. 

Madison ends up not being too bad, actually. She does start getting fussy around the hour-mark, but Anne has it under control. Two hours into the flight, she’s sound asleep. Harry falls asleep, too. At first, he had his head resting uncomfortably against the headrest, until Louis tugged him over so Harry would cuddle up to him like he normally would. He wakes as they’re entering the sixth hour of the flight, and Madison is still sleeping. They get lucky, and she doesn’t wake up until there’s only a half-hour left of the flight. 

“What hotel are we even going to?” Louis asks as they’re departing the plane, Madison on hip. None of them are willing to let Madison out of hands-reach for even a second at a place as busy as an airport. They head over to the luggage-claim area, and Harry shrugs. 

“Don’t know. Mum booked it.”

“So it’s going to be, like, outrageously expensive,” Louis assumes, sighing a bit. Harry kisses his cheek briefly before leaning over to grab his suitcase. 

“Probably, babe, but this is her first vacation. And you know how my mum is.”

“Yeah, she’s about as pretentious as they come,” Louis jokes, knowing that Anne is right behind him. She pinches his waist, and he squirms away from it, laughing a bit. Madison’s smiling, too, even though she looks a little lost. 

It’s the first time they’ve felt like a proper family since Jack died. 

He suddenly feels faint, and the room around him gets a little dark and fuzzy. It’s just a little nausea, he tells himself as he grips onto the railing nearby. Louis touches his back gently, and Harry shakes his head, desperate not to ruin this moment for everyone else. 

“I think I was just sitting too long,” he says. “Just got a little woozy, I’m alright.”

After everyone has their belongings, they get a taxi to the hotel. The entire ride, Madison is staring out at the streets in awe, even though it’s still light out and they don’t look _that_ different from the busiest parts of London. When they pull into the hotel parking lot, Louis sucks in a small breath and Harry glances up, and yeah, maybe it’d be fair to call his mum the tiniest bit pretentious.

“Why are there so many windows?” Madison asks, climbing over Louis’ lap and pressing her tiny hands against the car’s window. “Why is it so tall?”

“‘Cause there are lots of people in there, baby,” Louis tells him. Harry’s sitting in the front seat because he figured it’d be the safest in case the driver was a nut-job, so he’s the one to pay him. He tips generously, even more than he normally does, because he’d feel like an ass not shelling out money when the driver is clearly aware that he can afford to. 

“Thanks,” the driver says, and with a grin, adds, “Mate.”

Harry lets out a proper laugh at that. “Yeah, cheers, mate.”

As they walk into the hotel, he watches Madison’s face morph from curiosity to astonishment. And it adds to this feeling in his chest, the feeling of unmistakable happiness. He’s genuinely happy right now, and it might be paired with that ever-present, cold sadness, but he can be okay with that since it hasn’t been paired with anything but anger before. 

Madison grabs his right hand, pulling him towards a painting on the wall, and Harry’s other hand feels terribly empty, so he takes it and presses it over Louis’ name on his bicep. Jack would’ve bloody loved it here, probably would have already been halfway up the stairs with one of them chasing after him. And he hasn’t found a way to soothe the guilt just yet, but maybe he can work on it during their stay in New York. Right now is the only time he’s ever had the energy to. 

“Are you going to grow up and be a painter, baby?” he asks, squeezing her hands. “Hmm? Could hang all your paintings all over the world, just like this.”

“No, Daddy,” she says, and she sounds so sure that it makes him laugh again. 

“Oh, alright. But you like painting, I thought.”

She shrugs. “I like a lot of things, Daddy. Lots.”

“That’s true,” Harry says, just as Louis comes over with two key-cards. Harry takes one and says, “I figured we’d all just share a room. Mads not might like sleeping somewhere she doesn’t know without us.”

“Madison will be fine with me,” Anne says firmly, and she intercepts their intertwined hands to tug Madison towards the elevators. There’s a man following her with a luggage cart, all of their bags on it except for Madison’s backpack she has yet to let go of. Louis elbows him in the ribcage, snorting softly. 

“Think your mum is saying that you need to get laid.”

Harry elbows him back, and when Louis narrowly avoids it, Harry comes back with a small punch to his shoulder. “ _You’re_ the one that needs to get laid, thanks.”

They don’t do this anymore, so Harry isn’t sure how it is that they still know how to do it so well. Louis must be thinking the same thing, because he gives him a shy smile before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the awaiting elevator. 

-

The first day, they don’t do anything but sit around Anne’s hotel room until it’s dinner time. They get dinner at a restaurant down the street, one of the fanciest places Madison’s ever been, and she orders the macaroni and cheese. Harry’s not in the mood to talk right now, his good mood from earlier having been slowly sucked out of him, but it’s -- fine. Harry doesn’t mind staring out the window and watching the people go past. Even though he’s rarely ever in more than sweats and a simple t-shirt, he greatly admires the people of New York’s fashion. Half these people walking in high heels and long fur coats are probably just going to the grocery store. 

At night, Louis’ dead tired since he didn’t sleep on the plane at all. As he sleeps, Harry slips out of bed and heads out to the balcony. Experiencing jet lag always makes him feel like a bit of a rockstar. And what a stupidly corny thing that is, he thinks. 

He’d text somebody, if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s currently two-nineteen in the morning. So, instead, he leans against the railing and stares down at the city bustling beneath him. All these lights, the cars, the tall building -- it’s all so beautifully chaotic, and Jack would’ve been memorized. 

Harry closes his eyes, clutching onto the railing tighter, and he imagines holding Jack to his chest tightly, pointing out all the different colored lights. Jack would probably be clinging to him, a hand pulling on the neck of his t-shirt, a little bit nervous. He’d fall in love with New York the same way as Harry did as a kid: being immersed into it completely, and slowly, finding different parts of it to cherish. If Harry squeezes his eyes tight enough, he swears he can picture it so well that he can almost feel it. And that is morbid, but nothing about this isn’t. 

“God, kid,” he whispers, teeth clenched together just as tight as eyelids. His voice is so low that he’s sure the wind mutes it altogether. “Jack,” he whispers, and there’s this -- this stupid fucking feeling that he’s probably just making up, and that feeling that’s settling in the pit of stomach feels a lot like acceptance, a lot like closure, somehow. And that makes no sense: Harry’s not going to find any closure here in New York, whispering to himself on the balcony of the fourth floor, but it _feels_ like. . . release, almost. Of what, he’s not sure. And it hurts so much that he’s not even sure if it’s a good thing or not. 

“We miss you,” he says, and fucking hell, he’s probably an idiot for talking to himself. But it doesn’t _feel_ like he’s talking to himself. He doesn’t feel alone. “ _I_ miss you. I hope. . . If there is a heaven, baby, I bet everyone’s loving you up there. And if there isn’t, I bet they’d build one just for you.”

He won’t probably die if anybody heard him. Embarrassment is clinging to his skin, making him hot and shaky. He lowers himself to the concrete in a crouch, hands tight around the railing’s bars. 

“Your sister’s going to school soon,” he continues. “If you can, if this is how this works -- you better be there with her. She’ll need you.”

But if Jack could still somehow be anywhere right now, Harry’s sure he’d be at home with Cooper, and then Cooper wouldn’t have to be so sad all the time. But Harry just needs to let himself believe this lie for once, because it might help him accept the truth. 

“Let’s face it, though, she would be the one beating up boys for you, not the other way around, right?” He laughs quietly to himself, and tears slide down his nose from how he’s positioned. “I’m sorry I made so many promises that I couldn’t keep, baby. I hope you know that I really, really wanted to be able to keep them. To keep you. I would’ve -- God, Jack, I would’ve done anything to keep you here. I hope that you don’t think that we failed you. We tried, baby. We tried so hard.”

He sniffles, loudly. Too loudly. It breaks the bubble, reminds him that there are others in this world, that his husband is inside. Slowly, he wipes his cheeks and stands up. He takes one last look out at the city before kissing the tattoo on his hand and retreating back inside. 

-

Harry sleeps in late the following day, like usual. He wakes at three in the afternoon to Louis thanking room service, and he drags his eyes open. The first thing he notices is how bright it is outside, and then his eyes find the clock, and he sighs. He forces himself to sit up so he doesn’t accidentally get dragged back to sleep, and Louis turns to him, surprised. 

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” he says apologetically, coming back into bed with a plate of what looks to be shrimp ravioli. “I was starving. Figured you’d be waking up any minute.”

“Should’ve woken me up,” Harry croaks out, and he pulls off the covers, too hot. He’s so exhausted still, but he can’t drag his family to New York and then turn around and sleep all day. 

Louis snorts. “I’ve told you how many times that you sleep like the dead?”

“Did Mum take Maddie out, then?”

Louis nods. 

“You should’ve gone with them.”

Louis stays quiet for a second, forking around at his noodles. He sighs quietly before glancing at Harry, and Harry’s not expecting there to be so much sincerity in his eyes. “I didn’t come here to go sight-seeing or shopping or whatever else you do in New York. I came here for you. So, you know. Only makes sense to stay with you, even if you’re snoring so loud that the neighbors can hear and heating this stupid bed like a furnace.”

Filled with something that he hasn’t felt in a long time, Harry leans over to kiss Louis. Not just a peck, but a proper kiss. And when his hand creeps over Louis’ thigh, Louis elbows him, hard, in the chest. 

“Not until after I eat,” he says, pulling away with a face so smug that Harry just has to pinch his inner thigh. 

“I hate you,” he mumbles, getting out of bed to go to the toilet. “Who eats shrimp ravioli for breakfast, anyway?”

“It’s lunch,” Louis calls after him, and Harry flips him off before he closes the bathroom door. And when he looks at himself in the mirror, a half-smile still on his face, it’s like it’s the first time he’s seen himself in weeks. Thinking back to what his mum said not too long ago -- yeah, he’s a little too skinny, and yeah, he’s a little too pale, and yeah, he does look exhausted. 

Smile now completely gone, he goes to the bathroom quickly and comes back out. He gets back into bed with Louis, grabs his phone, and sees a few texts from his mum in the groupchat. There are pictures of Madison that he immediately saves, and then a text saying they’ll be back by four. He doesn’t realize Louis’ reading the texts over his shoulder until he mumbles a, “Oh, crap, it’s nearly three-twenty already,” before putting his bowl on the side-table. He grabs the phone out of Harry’s hand, tosses it to the end of the bed, and kisses him, equally as fervent as Harry did only a few minutes ago. Any other time, Harry would have pushed him away and told him he had to wait just like Louis did to him, but he’s turned on and chasing the unfamiliar feeling, so he reaches down to pull down Louis’ joggers so fast that he accidentally drags his nails down his skin. 

“Ah, fuck you,” Louis hisses, slapping his arm blindly. Harry laughs breathlessly against him as he squeezes Louis’ bum softly. 

“Should’ve been wearing pants, then, you sleaze.”

It all happens so fast that Harry gives up on trying to stay focused and just gives into that primitive desire and lets it blindly lead the way. His head is spinning and his hands are shaking and, if he’s being completely honest, he feels a little disgusted with himself for wanting to do this when Jack is dead. That thought is the last straw before Harry does finally turn the switch off, cutting off any emotional part of sex and just giving into the physical parts. It’s why he begs Louis to fuck him without stretching him open first, something Louis is adament that he won’t do. 

“You’ve done it before and I survived, Louis, fuck,” he says, nearly gasping for breath as his fingers dig into Louis’ shoulder. 

“I’ve not fucked you in months, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

Harry whines, tosses his head back against the pillows. “But I _want_ you to.” 

Louis grabs his jaw firmly, leaning towards him so they’re eye-to-eye. He looks so serious, too serious to be achingly close to screwing his husband for the first time in months. “That’s not going to happen,” he says, and there is nothing in his demeanor to make Harry think any more begging would get him what he wanted, so he shoves at Louis’ shoulder and groans, “Just get on with it then, come on, come _on_.”

Once it’s all over, Louis falls into bed next to him, panting heavily, and Harry sits up. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly, and Louis reaches over to slide his hand over Harry’s sweat-slick back. 

“You okay?”

Harry nods, although it’s devastating how quickly that persistent numb feeling is crashing back into him, chasing out all the endorphins like they were an unwelcome guest. “Yeah. Just a little sore.”

“No, not -- ” Louis sighs, and he scoots over in the bed until he’s sitting next to Harry, criss-crossed. He sets his chin on Harry’s shoulder, eyes wide and trusting. “I meant, are _you_ okay?”

Harry opens his mouth to yes, of course, that he had fun, but he can’t bring himself to do it because he’s sure he’ll just cry the minute he tries to talk. So, instead, he shrugs a bit, and he reaches behind them to grab a blanket to put over them, telling himself that it’s because Madison and Anne could be running in here any second. 

“You know,” Louis says quietly. “I feel guilty all of the time, too.”

It’s too much, Louis jabbing his fingers into the truth. It’s just too much, and Harry twists away, but Louis doesn’t let him get far, his fingers tight around Harry’s bicep. Any tighter, and Harry might just have to cry into his chest like he’s wanted to every day since October. 

“Your mum seems to think that you don’t know that I’m still a fucking mess, too,” Louis continues. “And at first I thought that it couldn’t be true, that there was no way I was hiding it so well, but if. . . Harry, I think about him every minute of every day. I cry in almost every shower I have nowadays. I miss him, and I feel guilty over everything, and I talk to him, and -- ”

Harry turns to look at him, sniffling quietly. “You do? You talk to him?”

“All of the time. In the car, mostly. I know that he’s not here to listen, but it feels nice anyway.”

And Harry felt so insane last night about talking to himself on that balcony that hearing Louis admit to the same thing hurts in just the right way to get him sobbing. Out of relief and frustration and anger -- out of everything you could ever possibly feel, probably. Harry falls into Louis at the same time Louis catches him, and he cries and he cries and he cries. So hard, and for so long that Louis fishes his phone out from under the blankets, still holding onto him tightly, probably to text his mum that it isn’t a good time to come back to the hotel just yet.

Once there are no tears left to possibly cry, he pulls away from Louis slightly, finally having the strength to see if he’s crying, too. And he is, and it shouldn’t make Harry feel better, but it does. Harry sniffles wetly and wipes his eyes on his arm. Everything feels so fragile inside of him, like even the gentlest touch could send him crumpling, so he’s cautious in how he leans forward to kiss Louis. It’s gross since they’re crying and probably not the right thing to do, but he does it anyway because his brain is too busy to figure out something else to do. 

“We’re going to visit him when we get back,” Harry whispers, fiercer than he thought he could muster. “Me and you, we’re going. The both of us. And we can,” his voice cracks. “We can talk to him together.”

Louis smiles, this sad, thin smile, and nods. “I’d like that more than anything, darling.”

And because the sex and the cry were about the two most emotionally-charged experiences he’s had in a while, he allows himself to be guided back into bed, under the covers, and cuddled close. He falls asleep with his cheek pillowed against Louis’ bicep, right against his name. 

-

They spend two weeks in New York. Most of the days are relatively calm, aside from maybe one or two trips out of the hotel a day. Half of the nights, Harry and Louis get off together in one way or the other, and the other half, they have these long, quiet talks. Not just about Jack, although that’s what it usually boils down to. That talk about almost everything, and the only thing, the _one_ thing, Harry doesn’t disclose is that he wants to at least discuss the possibility of having more kids sometime in the future. Differing opinions on kids breaks up marriages all the goddamn time, and after months of them feeling fragile, Harry isn’t going to risk how good they are right now for anything. 

On the fifth day, Louis drags Harry out to the shops to spend money on expensive, fancy clothes that Harry won’t ever wear because he doesn’t really have anywhere to wear them to. It’s fun, though. Really fun. On the seventh, they take Madison out to walk around the city. By now, she’s a little immune to how pretty the city looks, but they find new things to show her that make her eyes light up. 

They go swimming in the hotel pool a few times, Harry only joining in once; eat food with American portions that is sure to pack a few pounds on all of them; curl up in bed together to watch a movie all together. The entire time, the missing piece is evident to all of them, but for once, Harry doesn’t feel entirely broken. 

The night before they’re due to leave, Harry and Louis fight over whether or not they should raid the mini-bar or order a classy bottle of red wine. There is only hard liquor and a brand of white wine that Harry doesn’t like in the mini-bar. Louis pokes him, hard, in the forehead when he says that. 

“All brands of wine taste the same,” he says. “You’ve been brainwashed, darling.”

Harry pushes his hand away. “That’s just not true. Gallo’s far too bitter.”

“Then drink the scotch, your highness.”

“You drink the scotch,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I’m ordering a bottle of red. I’ll share it with my mum, or something.”

Louis looks mildly offended as he pulls a bottle of scotch out of the fridge. He stands up straight before leaning against the fridge and says, “I’m offended you think we’re spending the last night in the States doing things that your mum should be around for. Quite insulting, I’d say.”

It makes Harry grin, which is -- it makes his head spin, the whiplash of going from being a wreck back home to being like this here. He pushes that down as he schools his face and says, “Can’t hear you. Calling about my wine.” He plops on the bed and reaches for the phone, waving it about before dialing the right number. 

Louis sighs dramatically, pushing off the fridge as he crosses the room to the bathroom. “Guess I’ll just have a nice, warm bath all by myself then. Just me and my scotch.”

Harry rolls his eyes before turning his attention to the server who says they’ll have his red wine -- a _good_ brand -- right up. He can hear the bath running as he waits, and it makes him feel giddy, a bit. He hasn’t taken a bath with Louis in. . . God, _ages,_ because they’re parents and had a sick child and now a dead child and -- they just haven’t taken a bath together in a long time. And he’s not feeling so excited because it’ll probably end with an orgasm, he’s happy because he’ll spend at least an hour blowing bubbles at Louis and getting splashed and messing with each other’s soap-slick hair until it’s sticking straight up. 

The wine arrives faster than Harry expects it to, and he rolls out of bed to grab it. He thanks the server before shutting the door, rushing to the kitchen to grab two glasses and heading to the bathroom. Louis’ still fully dressed and staring at the red-tinted bath water with a frown. 

“You know that spa thingy your mum bought us the other day?” he asks. “The bath bomb looked pink, didn’t it? Why is it red? It looks like blood.”

“Matches my wine,” Harry says, and he’s fully expecting to get a slap for that, but he can’t avoid it because he has too many things in his hands. He nearly drops one of the wine glasses from laughing, and Louis helps him put everything down. And then he slaps Harry in the stomach again, gently, and tells him to strip. 

It might not be like this when they get back home. It might go back to normal, before Jack died, or it might go back to how it’s been between them for the last few months. But for now, as he’s lowering himself into the warm, admittedly grossly red bath, as he watches Louis pour too much of the bath bubble liquid into the water, only stopping when Harry physically takes it out of the hands so he doesn’t drown them in the bubbles, as he feels Louis’ toes nudge his thigh, as they kiss softly and with their hands hidden under the water -- it’s good right now, and after a long eleven months of suffering, he’ll blindly take it without any complaints. 

-

It gets hard again when they return home. In New York, it felt like an untreated wound finally scabbed over, starting to heal, and stepping back inside their home claws it right back open. Louis gets quieter, too; he doesn’t go back to work right away, waits a whole three days, and in that time, Harry watches him. His smiles fall a little too quickly, his eyes are nearly always bloodshot and puffy even though Harry never catches him crying, and he tosses and turns in bed all bloody night. Harry was feeling far too vulnerable to immerse himself back into the last of Jack’s world, so he crawled into bed next to Louis the first night they got back and hasn’t felt the need to change it since.

The first night, Harry does his best to ignore Louis’ restlessness. It keeps him awake and worries him, a bit, but Louis’ probably trying not to wake him. He falls asleep fairly quickly each time he’s woken, anyway. The following night, though, he can’t help it when he rolls onto his back and tilts his head towards Louis, who’s looking at him with wide, apologetic eyes. It’s the same face Louis gave him in New York when Harry had asked when he wasn’t calling his family all that much. 

“I talk to my mum about every two weeks,” he told him. “Usually on the weekends, when you’re asleep. I know it’s not nearly as much as I used to, but, like. . . I don’t know, you know? And she gets it, so, like. It’s not a big deal.”

“Sorry,” Louis whispers to him now. “Think the time zones have me fucked up.”

“Oh,” Harry whispers back, soothed. He thought this was what Louis did every night, restless with thoughts of their son. Jet lag is a much easier problem to handle. 

“It should sort itself out in the next few days.” He scoots closer to Harry, resting his leg on one of Harry’s and dragging his hand over Harry’s chest. It settles on his stomach, and Harry stares down at it as he wonders how touch felt so different in another country. “I don’t want to go back to sleeping in separate beds, so just -- deal with it for a few nights? Please? I miss you being here next to me. And Cooper.”

Cooper’s currently curled up in Madison’s bed, mostly likely due to the fact that he hasn’t seen her in over two weeks. He stayed at Gemma’s, left out of the family fun. Harry feels bad, but he didn’t much feel like taking a dog all the way to New York. 

“I didn’t much like being in another bed, either,” Harry admits. Sleeping in Jack’s bed wasn’t about avoiding Louis, though, it was about staying close to his son. “I won’t leave. It’s okay if you keep me up, I was just making sure that you were alright.”

“I’m okay. Are _you_ okay?”

Harry shrugs, still staring down at Louis’ hand. He can’t make it out clearly in the dark, but he keeps staring anyway. “I’m fine,” he says. It’s not exactly the truth, although it’s not far from how Louis sounded, either. 

As time goes by, it’s safe to say that he’s doing better now than he was before New York, though. Everything feels a little bit lighter, a little clearer, and that goes a long way with someone who felt buried under the weight of it all. He still sleeps in until three in the afternoon most days and gets terribly sad when Louis goes back to work and refuses to go out to the shops, but it’s all done with a little more grace now. 

When Madison starts school, though, Harry meets new lows.

There’s nothing for him to do without her home. There’s nothing for Anne to do, either. It feels like all they do is stare at each other all day, trying to find things to make this less awkward. For her stay to seem less like it’s no longer needed. Harry would not be able to take being home all day by himself, though, he would actually break into about a million little pieces if he was left completely alone. If the loneliness in his heart was matched up with having nobody around. He couldn’t take it. 

His daughter being at school for four and a half hours a day should not shake his entire sense of self. He made a mistake in making being a stay-at-home dad his identity, he’s pretty sure. That must’ve been a mistake, because now with one of them dead and the other at school -- he doesn’t have a goddamn clue what to do with himself. 

It would’ve been easier if he hadn’t promised to take her and pick her up from school. He probably would have just slept through her absence and not even noticed a difference if he had let Anne take her. But he made a promise to his daughter, one that he has the power to keep, and he won’t back out of it just because he’s having a little bit of a rough time in figuring out how to be useless for a few hours.

“You should take up a new hobby,” his mum tells him in the beginning of Madison’s second week of school. She sits by his feet on the couch, pulls the blanket over his toes more. All he does anymore is drop Madison off, come home, stare at the TV, pick her up, come back home, and sink into the same spot of the couch after Madison makes it clear on a daily basis that she’s far too independent to need or want him right beside her all the time. “I could teach you how to knit. Or maybe you can start writing like you used to as a teenager.”

Harry just shakes his head. It makes Anne frown. 

“Baby,” she says with a sigh. “You were finally lightening up a bit again. I hate to see you so sad. Would you please at least talk to me?”

He pulls his knees up to chest and sets his arms on his knees. The warmth in his chest spreads to his face, the telltale sign that he’s going to start crying any minute. And he doesn’t want to do that, so he stays silent. 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong? This is about more than just Jack, I can tell.”

And the tears come, anyway. Harry wipes his eyes with his sleeve and takes a deep breath. He feels so fucking pathetic and worthless. Like a failure, mostly. Like he failed at every part of his life he was supposed to succeed in. 

“Nobody needs me anymore,” Harry whispers, shaking his head. 

Anne immediately tells him that’s not true, that he shouldn’t think that, that Louis and Madison need him more than ever. But if that was true, then Harry wouldn’t be spending his days doing nothing except existing. 

“Louis is fine without me,” Harry argues, tears still sliding down his cheeks. “He made that clear to me when he was able to go back to work. And we’ve been talking more lately, sure, but he -- he doesn’t need me. And Madison doesn’t me, either. She -- Jack needed one of us for everything he did, he _always_ wanted us there with him, and I didn’t realize that was all I was good at until now.”

That’s not true, she says. They need him; of course they need him. 

“I don’t even know who I am anymore, Mum.”

“You’re Harry,” she says, like it means something. Like it’s not just a name, like he’s not just another body drifting around until he dies. Like all of this actually matters, even though Jack’s death showed him that there’s no point in hoping or praying or trying. 

“Baby,” she says sadly once he doesn’t react. “Maybe it’s time we talk about therapy.”

Harry lets out a hollow laugh. Sometimes he convinces himself that his mum understands, that she knows what he’s going through, but right now she just proved that she really has no idea at all. 

“Don’t know of a therapist who can bring my kid back.”

“One can help bring _you_ back.”

“I am _right_ here,” he says, close to snapping. “That’s sort of the fucking problem. I’m here, and if I don’t seem my old self it’s because the person I was before was tethered to someone who is now _gone_. He’s _gone_ , Mum. I don’t have a -- a fucking purpose anymore or something.”

She looks horrified by that. “Yes, you do. Of course you do. You still have a perfectly healthy daughter and a perfectly healthy husband. Those are your purposes, right there.”

Harry just shrugs, glancing back at the TV with a glare. She doesn’t understand. 

“Madison and Louis would be devastated without you, Harry.”

He rolls his eyes. “I _know_ that.”

“Then how can you say that they don’t need you?”

“Because they _don’t_. Their lives don’t revolve around someone else’s like mine is supposed to. I wanted to be,” he pauses, unsure of how to explain it. “I liked having a million things to do. To have to go chasing around the kids all the time. And now that’s just _gone,_ and there’s no getting it back.”

Anne looks so, so confused. “Madison is barely five. She’s growing up, sure, but she’s still a handful.”

“Yeah, well, my hands feel pretty empty.”

“Dinner hasn’t been made yet,” she tells him softly, reaching over to set her hand on his arm. “I promised Madison we’d have shepherd’s pie tonight. You know how to make that, don’t you?”

Harry just shrugs. He feels so incredibly miserable right now -- always -- that there is a part of him that is worried that this is just going to be his new life. That he’ll never be able to be happy again, like losing Jack severed that feeling forever. 

“And there’s laundry to be done,” she continues. “And there are bushes in the back that need a good cut.”

“What happened to our gardener?” Harry asks tiredly. 

“I let go of Mr. Abel ages ago. Maybe you’re right, maybe it does get a little boring being here all day. It’s nice to sometimes have some work to do around the house. You can start helping me out, if that’s what you need.”

Tailgating his mum around the house to help her do chores is not exactly what he meant when he said he wanted to be needed, but he supposes it might help. He won’t knock the idea until he tries it, until he finds failure in that, too. 

“I think you really need to talk to Louis, baby,” Anne whispers, and she lifts her hand to stroke his damp cheek. “I’ve never seen you quite this defeated. He’s always been so good at making you happy. You should talk to him about this.”

“I do talk to him.”

Anne looks at a loss of what to do next. She can’t fix something she doesn’t understand, and she must see that her words aren’t helping Harry at all. Nothing can help him right now. This past year -- because in a month it’ll be a _year,_ and it makes Harry want to puke -- has torn him apart in too many different ways to be fixed. 

When Louis lost Jack, he lost his son. When Harry lost Jack, he lost his son and his entire identity. Jack was his _world_. And it’s not like Harry misses him more or Louis loved him any less, because that’s just not true. They both lost something huge, and it’s not a competition, but Louis’ grieving process didn’t come with a midlife crisis as well. 

“Let’s go start dinner, okay?” Anne suggests softly as she stands up. She doesn’t rush him, not when he doesn’t get up right away, not when he keeps crying. She stays patient and gentle with him as he finds the motivation to get up and cook. And when they finally do make it to the kitchen, Harry breaks down into tears again while he’s peeling the onion and Anne’s right there to comfort him and keep his hands away from his face. 

An hour later, the pie is in the oven and Harry’s grabbing his keys off the hook near the front door to pick up Madison. He’s still overly emotional, but that’s not a good enough excuse for him not to go, despite what his mum says. 

All of last week, Madison stayed off to the side, by herself, while the rest of the kids chattered amongst themselves as they waited in the classroom for their parents to come inside to get them. She didn’t really seem sad about it, which he supposes is good, although he’d rather her talk to some of her classmates. Fortunately, as he goes inside today, realizing belatedly that he’s in two-day old joggers and a worn sweatshirt that hasn’t seen the wash in ages, he spots Madison talking to a little boy, both of their smiles wide. 

“Hello, Mr. Styles,” the teacher says as he walks into class. They had talked briefly on the first day; Harry absolutely did not want to speak to anyone, and he still doesn’t. Thankfully, Madison’s head turns when she hears his name and she waves to her friend before running over to him. 

“Hi, baby,” he says quietly, reaching for her hand. She takes it with a bright smile, and he’s about to leave with her when Ms. Johnson walks over to them. Harry tries not to make how much he does not want to talk to her obvious and gives her a small smile. 

“Madison had a lot of fun today, didn’t you?” Ms. Johnson says in a voice that Harry couldn’t stand for more than five minutes. It’s her job to be peppy though. To keep the kids engaged. 

Madison nods. “Soo much fun. We painted today. It’s drying over there.” She points across the room to a table of colorful papers that some of the other parents are looming over. 

“That’s good,” he says politely. 

“She has a real knack for it,” Ms. Johnson tells him. Harry’s hand tightens on Madison’s, tugging her a little closer. The desire to leave is making him restless. “She tells me she paints a lot at home with her brother.”

Harry’s neck hurts from how fast he looks down at Madison, who’s looking back up at him with wide eyes. It’s the same look she gives when she’s looking for reassurance, so Harry swallows thickly and gives her a slight nod. 

“Yeah, um. Yeah. It’s one of her favorite things to do.”

Before she can respond, another parent is walking in and Ms. Johnson excuses herself to go talk to them next. Harry gives Madison one last glance before squeezing her hand and leading her out of the room. He doesn’t bring it up -- and he’s not even sure if he should -- until they’re walking out of the building. 

“You were always a better painter than Jack, weren’t you?” he asks, and she immediately looks away from him and off to the side. She must think she’s done something wrong. 

“It’s ‘cause he always mixed all the colors. Gets gross,” she says quietly. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?” They reach the car, so she lets go of Harry’s hand to climb into the car seat. He helps her settle in, and while he’s fiddling with the buckle, he hesitantly says, “It’s okay to tell people about Jack, baby. You do know that, right?”

She squirms, which makes Harry’s job a little harder. He gets everything clipped together, though, and then he glances at her. She looks uncomfortable in a way he hasn’t seen her before. 

“Maddie, baby. Love. You okay?”

She nods, and he reaches forward to swipe his finger over his nose. It makes her break into a smile, so she probably is okay. Probably; Harry can’t know for sure. 

“What did you paint, then?” 

“Cooper.”

Harry nods before kissing her cheek and heading to the front seat. As he buckles in, he checks his mirror to see her nodding her head and swinging her feet, so he decides not to worry about it. 

-

The following afternoon, after a long day of cleaning the kitchen tiles with his mum, Harry picks Madison up, same as usual. She comes to him with a nervous smile and a paper in her hands. She stares down at it for a moment before turning it around and showing it to him. It’s her painting from yesterday. Of Cooper, like she said. But beside him is a stick-figure with blonde, curly hair and bright blue eyes, and it sends chills down Harry’s spine and rocks to the pit of his stomach. 

“It’s beautiful,” he tells her, careful not to sound emotional. She brightens up a bit at his compliment. “Should go right on the fridge, shouldn’t it?”

Harry hangs it up on the fridge right when they get home, right next to Jack’s picture that was used at the funeral. 

-

It doesn’t get any better. If anything, it gets worse. Because now, even on the weekends, Harry can’t find it in him to see the good in nearly anything. It doesn’t exactly make sense, does it, because this whole problem initially got worse since Madison went back to school. She’s home on the weekends, both her and Louis are, yet Harry is still completely miserable. 

It’s a Saturday near the end of September when Louis tries to talk to him about it. 

Harry is the first to wake, and he goes to the bathroom before climbing back into bed. While Louis snores softly beside him, Harry goes through the unread messages on his phone that have been piling up since he last went through them. Gemma, Liam and Louis’ mum are attempting to reach him the most. There are a few messages from his dad and Niall, too. Just last week, Harry overheard his mum chewing out his dad over the phone for not reaching out to him more. _He’s not getting through this_ , she spat, like that was in any way Des’ fault. 

Normally, he doesn’t respond to any of the messages. This time, though, there’s a three-day old text from Gemma that reads, _Is mum being overdramatic or are you actually doing really poorly? Please please please text me back xxx_. After reading it over and over and over again, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, he decides that he should text her back. 

_I’m ok. Mum just worries. Hope you and the kids are good x._

It takes her forty-five minutes for Gemma to respond, and when she does, Louis is beginning to stir next to him. _The kids are fine. They would love to see their uncle if he’s up for it?? Pete’s been crabby with people lately but he’s always liked you_. 

He doesn’t want to respond, and he wouldn’t have, if it wasn’t for the fact that his sister is very much the type to show up at his house unannounced. As someone who has never really figured out how to say no, it takes him a few minutes to decide on a response. He settles for, _I’m not particularly in the mood for any visits right now, but tell the little ones I said hello x_. 

He doesn’t even have a chance to exit out of the messaging app before she sends a response. He doesn’t look at it before putting his phone down on the dresser, and he tucks his arms back under the warm covers as he shifts from his back to his side. Louis must be barely asleep at this point, because the shifting is enough to wake him up enough to slide closer to him. Louis tucks his legs behind Harry’s, wraps his arms around Harry’s middle, sets his head against Harry’s back. It’s like Harry’s incapable of feeling certain emotions now, because neither his body or mind react to the touch in any way. 

It takes Louis about fifteen minutes to convince himself to get up. He sighs quietly against Harry and squeezes his waist before rolling back onto his side of the bed to grab his phone. Another fifteen minutes pass, and then Louis’ getting out of bed to head to the bathroom, mumbling that he needs to piss. The only difference between Louis and Harry’s morning is that Louis doesn’t get back into bed. Instead, he comes over to kiss Harry on the head and ask him if he’s coming downstairs or going back to bed. 

“I’ll probably sleep some more,” Harry says quietly, and Louis nods.

“Okay. You look tired, anyway, so you probably should.” He drops a kiss to his shoulder and leaves the room. Harry counts the sound of his footsteps down the stairs until they stop. He shuts his eyes, hoping that he’ll be able to go back to sleep. Sleeping is the only the he wants to do anymore, and that’s so -- fucking cliche, for one. Pathetic, for another. 

He rolls over towards Louis’ side and gets comfortable on Louis’ pillow. The tears come from nowhere, although they aren’t exactly surprising. There’s a never-ending supply of them nowadays. In an attempt to pretend like it’s not happening, Harry closes his eyes and pulls the blankets over his shoulder again. 

It’s just after ten when Harry finally falls asleep, two hours after he initially woke. Louis comes to wake him at twelve, with whispers and gentle shakes and Cooper licking at the back of Harry’s neck. Harry slowly opens his tired eyes, and Louis sits on the edge of the bed in front of him, looking a little bit worried. 

“Time is it?” Harry asks, voice scratchy. He closes his eyes again, sets his cheek on his hand that’s resting against the pillow. There’s no way it’s that late, because he’s still exhausted. 

“Noon. Mum and Mads are going out to the,” he hesitates. “P-a-r-k in an hour,” he finishes, and Cooper doesn’t react, so he must not know what that means. “I’m going to come, too, if you go with me.”

_If_ Harry goes. Meaning Louis will stay home if Harry does. Meaning, if Harry doesn’t go, then Louis is going to miss out on the nice weather and time with their daughter. Harry doesn’t much appreciate the added pressure. 

“I don’t want to. Just go without me, Lou, it’s okay.”

“Baby,” Louis whispers, and a hand touches Harry’s cheek. Harry opens his eyes, and Louis looks more worried than he did before. “It’s not healthy for you to be -- ”

Harry huffs out a breath as he sits up, pushing Louis’ hand off of him. He pulls his knees up so he’s not touching Louis at all and drops a hand to Cooper’s back. “I hear this from my mother every day. Don’t start.”

“She talked to me this morning,” Louis tells him, sounding too serious for this early in the morning. Afternoon -- whatever. “She’s been trying to talk to me for a few weeks now, and I’ve been ignoring it, but she finally got me to sit down and listen to her today, and I -- Harry. You’re heading down a very scary path.”

“Because I don’t want to go to the bloody park?” Harry snaps, defensive. 

“Because you don’t want to go _anywhere_.”

Harry scoffs. “We went to New York _last_ _month_ , _and_ I take our daughter to school every single day.”

Louis presses his lips together, looking far more concerned than Harry’s comfortable with. The focus is slowly moving from Jack to Harry, and Harry can’t stand it. For so many different reasons. 

“I need you to not be so defensive,” Louis whispers. “We need to talk about this, together, and you can’t listen if you’re on the attack.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Louis.”

Louis shakes his head and grabs Harry’s hand off the bed. He holds it gently, and Harry would pull away if it wasn’t for how upset Louis looks. “Did you really tell Mum that you don’t feel like you have a purpose anymore?”

His first instinct is to snap, _Well, I don’t, do I?_ But Louis is looking at him in a way that tells Harry he needs to be careful about what he says next. He can’t think of anything else to say except a quiet, “Yes.”

Louis looks heartbroken. “And do you have any idea how scary that sounds? Do you know how much that terrified me to hear her say that you said that?” When Harry doesn’t respond, Louis squeezes his hand tightly. He isn’t just going to let this go. “Harry. People who think they don’t have a purpose in life don’t tend to stick around. And I,” he lets out a choked noise. “I need you to stick around. For a long time, I need you to stick with me.”

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” Harry snaps, offended and scared, because if Louis thinks he’s doing poorly enough to think that something Harry said is a red-flag for -- for _that,_ for _suicide_ , then something is extremely wrong here. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. Don’t accuse me of something like that, don’t -- don’t make me feel fucking guilty for being sad.”

Louis looks hurt, scolded. “It is my _responsibility_ to look after you. Please don’t get upset because I’m trying to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not okay. I think I’ve made it pretty fucking clear that I’m not okay.” Harry takes his hand from Louis so he crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable -- it’s such a gross feeling, that. He hates it more than anything else. 

Cooper flops against him, his weight heavy against Harry’s side. 

“Do you want me to take some time off of work?” Louis asks after a minute of silence, and Harry glares at him with so much strength that he nearly feels bad for it. 

“I never wanted you to go back in the first place.”

“I’m not talking about then, I’m talking about now. And I’m going to stay home with you.”

“Why?” Harry asks with a scoff. “I’m the one who asked for this, not you. You never wanted to stay home all day.”

Louis frowns at him. “Things are clearly different now. You didn’t ask to lose your son, neither of us did, and that changes a lot of things. I’ll talk to my boss in the morning.”

Harry doesn’t want that. But he also doesn’t not want it. So, like he always does lately, he cries. It’s poorly timed and embarrassing, and he sets his forehead on his knees to hide his face, to stop himself from seeing how _scared_ Louis looks. Louis shushes him, comes over to wrap his arms around him, pulling him closer. 

It takes seven minutes for Harry to stop crying, and as soon as the tears stop, they immediately start back up again because Louis whispers, “Let’s go see him, baby.”

“I want to,” Harry cries, leaning more of his weight into Louis now. Cooper is licking at his hand, and it feels disgusting but Harry doesn’t push him away. “I want to see him every day, Lou, and I can -- I can never go, I can’t convince myself to go. It -- last time, it was too much. It was too fucking much.”

“I’ll be there with you this time, okay? We’ll do this together, come on.”

Louis sits them up a little more, and Harry pulls away to wipe his tears and ask, “Now?”

“Yeah, now. Come on. Throw on a coat, it’s getting chilly again.”

Harry watches Louis stand and head to the closet. He pulls out two light-weight coats and sets them on the bed, and it’s. . . Harry doesn’t have the strength to just impulsively decide to do something and then go ahead and do it anymore. That’s not how his brain has been operating lately. But Louis looks at him expectantly and softly all at once, and it’s the motivation Harry needs. 

After Harry’s dressed, Louis grabs his hand tightly, holding it as they walk down the stairs and to the kitchen, as he tells Anne they’re going out and she doesn’t question it, as they walk to the car together. He only drops it so Harry can go to the passenger’s side, and as soon as they’re both settled in the car, Louis’ hand goes right back to holding his. 

The entire car ride is silent. Not in a peaceful way; it’s suffocating and intense and not one bit of it is comfortable. It has no right to be peaceful, anyway, not when they’re on their way to visit their son’s grave for only their second time in a _year_.

Harry grabs the door handle, and Louis says, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Harry says easily as he pushes the door open. Louis follows after him, and then they’re walking down that gravel pathway together for the first time since the funeral. 

Unlike the last time Harry was here, he doesn’t cry the entire time. Tears leak out of eyes as what feels like a reflex, but there are no sobs that take him down to his knees to accompany it. The cry before they left probably wore him out. Louis stands tall beside him, his hand a comfortable weight in Harry’s. It’s chilly outside, so they stand close together, close enough to share body heat. Close enough to hear each other breathe. 

After what could be five or twenty minutes of standing there, staring at Jack’s gravestone, Louis takes a deep breath, his shoulder rising and falling against Harry’s, and says, “I wanted to be cremated. Before this. But I think. . . I think this feels right, having a place to come to. Knowing exactly where your dead is.”

Harry nods slowly. He had never given it any thought himself, but it makes sense. “We’ll probably be buried here, then,” Harry tells him. “My mum and dad bought a bunch of graves around here. For loved ones, so we can be close together.” Harry stares at the empty space surrounding Jack, the closest gravestone being Harry’s grandmother. It’s eerie to think that one day he’ll be buried under the ground they’re standing on. “Maybe even next to him, I don’t know.”

“I’d like that,” Louis says, voice tight. 

Harry nods, squeezing his hand. “Me too.”

There’s no screaming or crying or fighting or frozen skin like there was the last time. He doesn’t talk to Jack this time, or spend hours at the cemetery. But, somehow, as they walk out of the cemetery together, something inside feels more settled. 

-

Just like the last time, Louis stays home for a month.

It takes a few days to get used to waking up and Louis just being there, watching TV or on his phone or still asleep. When Harry’s alarm goes off to tell him that he has to get Madison to school in an hour, it gets them both out of bed and into the kitchen, a fresh pot of coffee ready and Madison eating breakfast at the table. Despite Harry being the one to take her, Anne is the one to wake her up and get her ready. It’s a role Harry would gladly assume, but Anne’s quicker than him and is just used to doing everything herself. 

Every single day, even though it’s pointless, Louis rides with them to school. Louis argues that it isn’t pointless, not when he’s spending time with his husband and daughter and gets to make fun of Harry’s slow driving. Madison likes Louis coming, though, and probably not just because of his presence; Louis being home makes Harry feel a little bit better, makes him act a little less miserably. Part of it is Harry not willing to be that weak in front of Louis, but it’s also because he loves Louis and loves having him close. Here, with him, for him -- not at work with a bunch of strangers. 

After they drop Madison off, Louis doesn’t let them go home and just sit around all day. Every day aside from the days that Harry is clearly in a bad mood, he insists they do something, whether it be sit at the park for a half hour or grab coffee together or find a nice diner for brunch. Harry hates it, honestly. He doesn’t want to be around other people, and he doesn’t understand why that’s a request that nobody will honor. But Louis talks to the servers when they go out to eat, and he’s the one to tackle small talk from strangers, and he’s always right next to Harry with an arm around his waist. And even though Harry hates it, he does have to admit that breaking his former monotonous pace helps break his former mindset. 

Back home, if they hadn’t eaten out, they eat with Anne at the kitchen table. Once that’s done, and only then, is Harry allowed to sit and watch TV without being disturbed. 

The gap between dropping Madison off and picking her up has been filled, and as the days come and go, Harry starts to slowly pick the scrapes of his sanity off the floor. He never has been good at being alone, and these past two months have been some of the loneliest times of his life. It makes sense that having someone else being around would do him good, and that someone else being Louis helps, too. 

Every Saturday, no matter how irritated Harry gets or how much he begs to be allowed the morning in bed, Louis convinces him to come to the cemetery with him. Every Saturday, Harry gets to see Jack with Louis standing right beside him. It was far too scary doing this alone, but with Louis. . . Harry finally feels like he has a connection with his son again by having something Jack-related planned for every weekend. And that’s everything to him. 

The structure Louis implements into his life was much needed, as was Harry feeling like he had a place, a purpose, in Louis’ life again, and Jack having one in his. Louis even gets the polar bear stuffed animal out of the hospital bag and gives it to Harry to hold onto at night, and fuck, he does. He holds onto it with everything he has. 

By the end of the month, Harry feels better. Clearer. Worth something again. So, he’s completely crushed when Louis starts talking about work again. It’s casual remarks laced into their normal conversations; _Jennie at work texted me today, saying she missed me_ and _I’ll miss sleeping in once I go back to work_ and _the next family day at the office, you guys should come_. The way Louis inserts small details like that into conversations, so well, so methodically, hurts every time. Once again, he’s prepared to leave Harry’s side. 

Things have changed since the last time they fought about this. Harry now understands that it’s not that Louis wants to leave Harry, it’s that he needs to. Harry has learned the hard way that slipping out of routine and having no structure to your day is difficult. Despite now understanding that, it still hurts. It still feels like betrayal. And it’s probably why Harry starts a massive argument over something completely different, because he knows he has no leg to stand on in the going-back-to-work argument. 

He doesn’t cause the argument on purpose. It’s not exactly an accident either, though. It’s. . . it’s a lot of things, he supposes. The ever-present bitterness that’s hot in his stomach mixes with the recharged anger at Louis, and it’s topped off by Louis being in a similarly prickly mood one random Tuesday while Madison is at school. 

It starts because Lottie texts Harry, just saying hello. It certainly doesn’t end there. 

They’re sitting on the couch in the living room, two empty mugs in front of them on the coffee table. Louis’ been watching TV quietly for the past hour, and Harry’s been staring down at his phone the entire time, doing that annoying thing where he wants Louis to ask him what’s wrong but won’t tell him outright what’s wrong himself. It’s childish, and Harry knows that. 

It doesn’t work, anyway. Harry’s the one to break the quiet when he says, “Your sister is texting me.” He glances at Louis, who keeps staring at the TV. 

“Which one?”

“Lottie.”

“Saying what?”

He doesn’t even look at Harry, and it makes him so ridiculously irritated that he says, “Just hi, but if she’s texting me, I know that means _you_ haven’t been texting _her_.”

Louis does look at him, then, and there is annoyance in his gaze, too. “What’s the tone for?” he asks, only a slight edge to his voice. It works Harry up even more, and he _knows_ he should get a grip on himself -- just because he can’t fight with Louis about him working doesn’t mean it’s okay to start a fight about something else -- but he’s _mad_. 

Their son died over a year ago now, Harry still hasn’t been spit out the other side of the grieving process, and now Louis’ going back to work, _again_ , and he’s _mad_. 

“I don’t have a tone,” he responds, a tone very much present in his voice. “I just don’t think it’s fair that you’re always so quick to jump on me on things, but you still haven’t started keeping up contact with your family like you used to, and -- ”

“When’s the last time you talked to your sister, Harry?” Louis snaps. “Your dad, Liam -- anybody who isn’t me or Anne. When’s the last time?”

“We aren’t talking about me, I _just_ said that.”

Louis lets out a deep, annoyed breath. “You’re mad that I’m thinking about going back to work,” he guesses, and he guesses right, and goddammit, no. _No_. He’s not going to let Louis try and fix this, because Harry’s _mad_. Harry _gets_ to be angry. 

“Oh, you are?” Harry says sarcastically. “Because unless I’m forgetting, we didn’t have a conversation about that.”

He’s still staring down at his phone, but he can see Louis sit forward, elbows on his knees out of the corner of his eyes. He rubs his hands over his face. “I just said I’m thinking about it. _Thinking_ about it. That’s why I didn’t bring it up to you yet.”

“But you have brought it up,” Harry argues. “You keep making all these tiny remarks that aren’t enough to give me reason to be upset, trying to, like, make me feel stupid for being angry, and -- ”

“That is not what I was intentionally doing, Harry. If you feel that I was being insensitive, I’m sorry, but don’t make me out to be someone who’s purposefully manipulative. I was just trying to see where you were at with the idea.”

Harry scoffs, putting his phone down. “You could’ve _asked_ me. That might’ve worked.”

“You are literally _impossible_ to talk to nowadays,” Louis snaps, and he glares at him and it’s -- Harry has no right to be so upset about it. He was looking for a fight and he got one, which should mean he sucks up how badly Louis talking to him like that hurts, but he can’t. He just can’t. Because he just wants Louis to stay, and that already makes him feel small and weak, and now Louis’ glaring at him like he _is_ small and weak, and it’s --

Harry just needs to go. To find somewhere quiet he can sit without feeling like he’s bothering everyone else, without being fussed over, without hearing everyone else moving around in the house like it’s easy. He needs to go, and he needs to do it now before he starts crying because he’s so sick of crying on Louis like he’s the only one in pain. 

“Pick Maddie up for me, please,” he says quietly, standing up. He doesn’t look at Louis as he crosses the room and slides his shoes in, not when he grabs his keys, not when Louis stands, too. 

“Where are you going?”

Harry shakes his head tiredly. “Doesn’t even matter.”

‘Yes, it does. We don’t walk out on each other during a fight, and we never have. So, where are you going?”

“My mum’s in Chelsea,” Harry says as he opens the door. Cooper comes running out from the basement, where he’s been with Anne for the last hour or so as she talks to a friend on the phone. Harry pats his head once before opening the screen door and shutting the door behind him, shutting it on Louis in the middle of an argument because he didn’t want to fight about that and he shouldn't want to fight at all. He just needs space. For everyone’s sake, honestly. 

Louis’ already calling him before he’s even made it off their street. Despite how he doesn’t want to talk and the heat collecting in his throat doesn’t want him to, either, he answers. He already feels like a piece of shit for leaving like that, for starting an unnecessary argument and then leaving. Even if he just wants some privacy, a place to fall apart in peace, turning his back on Louis like that was wrong. 

“I don’t like this,” is what Louis says when Harry accepts the call. Harry sighs, guilt booming in his veins. 

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left like that.”

“We’ve never done that before.” He’s quiet. Insecure, maybe. Or maybe it’s disappointment that Harry hears.

Harry lets out a slow breath. “I know. ‘Cause it’s fucking ridiculously childish. I’m sorry, but I,” he hesitates. “Would it still be alright if I stayed at my mum’s for a bit?”

“A bit?” Louis sounds alarmed. “A bit, how long is a bit?”

“A couple hours,” Harry rushes out, dread filling his body as he registers that Louis thought he meant days or weeks or months. He thought Harry was going to leave them. “Jesus, Louis. I’m not -- no. I’m not -- just a few hours. Please.”

There’s a pause, and then, “Just be back before dinner.”

“I will, promise.”

“Fine.”

Another pause, so Harry’s the one to whisper, “I love you.” It’s the most hesitant he’s ever felt saying it, so worried that he’s done something to make Louis think that wasn’t true. 

“I love you, too. You know that. Just -- do whatever you do and be back before dinner.”

He hangs up, then, and Harry lets out a rough breath as Harry flicks his blinker on, still prepared to take the turn that’ll lead him to his mum’s house. 

-

Whatever he’s looking for in coming here, he doesn’t find it. He does, however, take one of the best naps in his entire life, stretched out in the guest bedroom with the curtains pulled shut to block out the light. It’s the first thing he did when he got here, crawl into bed. What he did today was embarrassing, and the only way he knew how to deal with it was by sleeping. When he wakes, he feels a little bit better, a little less angry and a lot more ashamed of himself. But Louis -- he’ll understand. He’ll have to, because Harry can’t take Louis being upset with him, even if the reasoning is plenty valid. 

After Harry wakes, he finds his dad’s old vinyl set that his mum still keeps around for some reason. Harry doesn’t even know why she has it at this house, but he does know that she’s added some of her own records to the collection, because Des is not a huge fan of Shania Twain and there’s about three of her records here. Harry puts one on before making his time here useful; he dusts and straightens the bookshelf and cleans the broken flower pot outside that he noticed as he walked in. 

Once he’s finished, it’s ten minutes before dinner, and he won’t let himself admit to the reluctance he has about going home. He wants to go home, he wants to see his daughter and mum and apologize profusely to his husband, but he also enjoys the stillness here. The newness of it all, the peace it exudes, the absence of Jack Jack Jack that it provides him. It feels more forgiving here, somehow. 

Still, he forces himself to put away the record and text Louis that he’s on his way. Harry promised he’d make it back before dinner, and he doesn’t intend on disappointing Louis any more than he already has today. 

When he gets home, he tries to be quiet in his entrance, but Cooper exposes him almost immediately. He hears the voices fall in the kitchen and cringes; this must be what Louis felt like on the first night he came back home from work. Harry slowly makes his way into the kitchen, his heart beating fast in his chest. 

The look Louis gives him isn’t angry. The relief only lasts so long, because Anne is looking at him with enough disappointment for the both of them. Because Harry isn’t the type of man to do that, because Louis deserves better, because Anne had a bigger hand in raising him than Des, and she’d feel like a failure if this small incident is an indicator that Harry will end up taking after him. 

“Daddy,” Madison says excitedly. “We painted in class again today.”

“Oh, did you?” Harry asks. He steps forward and squeezes his mum’s shoulder, a silent apology, before bending down to kiss Louis’ head, and then his lips when he turns towards him. He takes the seat between them, a plate already made for him, and glances at Madison. “What did you paint?”

“A bee,” she says proudly, and it makes Harry’s heart melt a little bit. 

“That’s good, baby. When can I see it?”

“Tomorrow. After it’s done drying, I can take it home.”

Louis smiles, and it reaches his eyes. He must not be all that pissed, then. Or maybe he’s just good at faking it. “We’ll hang it up,” he says. “Right next to Jack and Cooper, yeah?”

Madison nods. 

-

Somehow, there’s no fight about it. Instead, it’s Harry calmly apologizing to Louis and trying to explain himself and Louis accepting his apology without scolding him like he’d deserve. When Harry quietly asks why he isn’t angrier, Louis lets out a sigh so tired that Harry looks down at the duvet, worried. They’re in bed, mostly because Madison wouldn’t leave them be until they went to bed themselves. 

“You answered my call,” Louis says. “You came back for dinner like I asked you to. No, I don’t like how you left, but you. . . You did enough. I don’t know. I don’t much like being mad at you these days. I know that you’re hurting. That we’re both still hurting.”

“I was a dick.”

“Yeah, you were. And if you ever did that to me again, I’d be a lot more pissed than I am now, just. . . I don’t know. Don’t do it again, I guess?”

“I won’t,” Harry promises hurriedly. He looks back at Louis’ tired face. “No more walking out during fights. I don’t even know why I did that.”

A quiet falls over them, and Harry thinks that they’re done for the night. That, as he turns from his back to his side facing away from Louis, Louis won’t say anything else before scooting towards him and cuddling him up tight. Harry reaches for the stuffed bear off the bedside table and holds it close, pressing his nose to it even though it has lost Jack’s scent a long time ago. 

God, he misses his little boy. Harry would spend a lifetime of those shitty days at the hospital, hunched over his bedside if it meant that he got to be with his son. He wonders if that makes him an awful, selfish person. Probably. 

“I’m glad we didn’t do that memorial service at the house in Chelsea. Wouldn’t have been right,” Harry whispers, voice so low that he’s surprised Louis even understands him. They were supposed to be done talking, so he has no idea why he opened his mouth. 

“Me too.” He slides towards him, wraps his arm around Harry’s torso. It’s a little loose, looser than he’d normally hold him, but Harry tries not to fret over it. Louis’ forehead presses against Harry’s shoulder, and he says, “I won’t go back to work if you don’t want me to. If you need me to stay here, I mean.”

Harry can’t say yes to that, and it tears him to pieces. Telling Louis to stay home is like telling him to pick Harry over himself, and he can’t do that to him. Or them; surely, they’d wind up hating each other if they were around each other twenty-four/seven, especially since Louis _wants_ to go to work. Misery loves company, but Harry loves Louis more. 

“You should go back to work,” he says, a little shakily. 

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes.” He bites harshly on his bottom lip, regret setting in as soon as the word is out. Holding Louis back isn’t an option, though. It just isn’t. “But -- Christmas. You have to be home for Christmas and your birthday and all that.”

“I’ve already requested those days off, love.”

Harry closes his eyes, swallows, and nods against his pillow. That’s something he can work with. As long as Harry doesn’t have to be without him on the extra hard days, then he should be able to handle the normally hard days by himself. 

Harry lets out a soft, tired sigh, and Louis’ arm tightens around his abdomen.

-

Louis goes back to work on the third of November, and Harry manages to keep up their routine by himself for exactly four days. 

On the first day, the weather is shit, but he forces himself to go sit in a park for an hour after he drops Madison off at school. It’s not the park they used to take the kids to; it’s one a few streets over from that one. This one doesn’t have the too-high monkey bars that Harry and Louis swore they were going to complain to someone about every single time that Jack insisted he wanted to go on them. Harry or Louis would always be right under him, holding tightly onto his waist, but still. The bars were a good two or three heads taller than Harry, and he didn’t think it was very appropriate for a kids’ park. (And every time he caught himself thinking that, he’d bite back a smile because it was such a proper dad thing to think. Now, it just makes him frown. He should’ve just let Jack enjoy the monkey bars in peace.) This park also doesn’t have the slide that Louis nearly threw up after going down because of how hungover he was from the night before, back when Harry and Louis actually still did date-nights. The kids must’ve been only two at the time. 

He sits there on a park bench by himself, at a distance that he _knows_ is probably making the other parents here uncomfortable. There are only two other parents here, two mums that are playing with their children on opposite sides of the playground. The one near the swings keeps shooting him looks, making sure he hasn’t moved. So, he keeps his head down and stares at his hands, careful not to seem intimidating. It was a lot less uncomfortable when Louis was here with him. 

To feel like he doesn’t belong here anymore is probably stupid. It’s just a park, first of all. There’s no age limit that comes with it. Second of all, he still has a kid. A beautiful, intelligent little girl. He still has her, even if he doesn’t have Jack anymore. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like that’s true anymore, that his fatherhood has been stripped away from him. 

After about an hour, it starts to snow, the sky finally acknowledging the cold weather. Harry takes that as his cue to leave. To get to the parking lot, he has to walk by the little girl on the swings and her mum, and she shoots him a threatening look that makes him stop in his tracks. He’s not going to leave here with a mum thinking he’s a creep. All he wanted to do was sit somewhere nice. 

She’s clearly nervous as he approaches her, and he doesn’t do anything to try and soothe her fears, doesn’t relax his shoulders or take his hands out of his pockets or offer her a smile. As he gets closer, he doesn’t really understand why he’s doing this -- she’s a _mum,_ of course she’s going to be suspicious of some guy sitting on the park bench nearby -- but it gets to a point that it’d be weirder if he turned back around without saying anything. 

“I’m Harry,” he says when he gets close enough. She gives him _that_ smile, the smile women give people who are clearly making them uncomfortable in an attempt to deescalate a situation that shouldn’t be their responsibility to fix. He hates it, so he’s quick to say, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You or your daughter. I’m just -- I was just trying to get some fresh air.”

“It’s okay,” she says with a rushed laugh, a laugh that matches that smile. She nervously glances at her daughter, who Harry makes a point of not looking at. He doesn’t know what to say to make it better; he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t have said anything at all. 

“I have two kids,” he tells her, and her face relaxes, only slightly. He takes his hand out of his pocket to show her the tattoos on his hand. “One of them is at school, and the other is. . . the other is gone. So coming here is comforting to me. I’m not,” he lets out a rough laugh. “I would probably look at anyone who had my dad-senses tingling the same way you’re looking at me, so I just wanted to let you know that I didn’t mean any harm.”

“I didn’t mean -- ” she looks flustered, and Harry quickly shakes his head, feeling like a right idiot. _A woman is uncomfortable by my presence; let’s fix that by walking right up to her._ What was he thinking?

“It’s totally fine,” he says, backing away a bit. “I just wanted to put your mind at ease.” And he thought that was the truth, but now he’s wondering if he was just aching to tell someone about Jack. Someone new. And that’s terribly pathetic, so he sticks to the first line of reasoning. 

“Have a good day,” she tells him weakly, looking guilty as he waves and turns around. “I hope to see you around here again some time.”

No, she doesn’t. It doesn’t matter; Harry’s certain that he’s never coming back here, anyway.

The second day, Harry drives forty-five minutes out to a small, cozy coffee shop, despite there being at least five closer ones. It was the one that he and Louis always stopped at after one of Jack’s doctor’s appointments, since it was only a block away and Jack was always in need of a sticky cinnamon bun. 

As he walks in, hair wet with rain and droplets clinging to his coat, he takes a long, deep breath and tries not to be angry that everyone on the goddamn planet seems to have kids. Little kids, too little to be in school, as little as Jack was when he died. He walks past a baby who stares at him with wide, interested eyes and stands in line behind a father and his son. The boy is clinging to his dad’s leg, and he’s got a Winnie the Pooh hat on, and it’s. . . good for them, is what he settles on in his head because being angry over other people’s happiness and fortune is not who is nor is it who he will let himself become. 

The boy doesn’t order a cinnamon bun, because that would be too much, wouldn’t it. Instead, he orders two snowmen cake-pops that he holds like they’re trophies. Jack would’ve given one to his sister. He would’ve held the stick tight in his little hands the whole way home, resisting the urge to eat it because he would’ve wanted his sister to have it more. 

With tears blurring his vision, Harry steps around the two of them when the barista tells them the total price and hands her his credit card. He doesn’t even say anything to them, just a quiet, “Yeah,” when she asks if he’s paying for their order. 

“Thanks, mate,” the guy says, and Harry stares at him for a few seconds before dropping his eyes to the boy. He’s not even looking at him, too distracted to care about a stranger’s act of kindness because he’s got trophies in his hands and Harry doesn’t matter to him, because Harry doesn’t get to matter to a son anymore, and it’s too fucking much. 

“I like your hat,” Harry says, voice scratchy, to the little boy. 

The boy doesn’t even hear him; his dad has to squeeze his shoulder and whisper, “Say thank you, Damion.”

“Thank you,” Damion chirps happily, but he doesn’t know who he’s thanking or what for because he keeps staring at his cake-pops. The minute his dad tells him that he can, he pops one in mouth and eats it like it's the best thing he’s ever had. 

Because it hurts too much and because it’s his turn to order, he turns back to the barista and orders a black coffee, a cinnamon bun, and a cake-pop. As he stands off to the side, waiting for his coffee, he eats the cake-pop. It’s not very good, an unsavory mix of sweet and stale, but he didn’t expect it to taste any good, anyway. 

After his coffee is ready, he takes his order to the car because he’s about two seconds away from crying. (He doesn’t end up crying, the hot coffee breaking apart the heat in his throat and giving him something else to focus on. It does come close, though, when he decides to drive past the hospital and he thinks, _God, I wish I still had a reason to come here._ The thought nearly makes him swerve in the middle of the street as he frantically takes it back, thinking that he’s suddenly jinxed his mum or Louis or Madison, even though he knows that’s not how things work.)

On the third day, he doesn’t think he can keep this up much longer. Which doesn’t exactly make sense, because going places, having new things to focus on, having a reason to get dressed in the morning -- it’s helping, it is, but it also takes so much _energy._ Energy he doesn’t have. 

Today, after watching Madison run into the building as she tries to beat the snow, he drives straight to a tattoo shop. He made an appointment last night before they closed because he’s pretty sure this will be the last day he’ll be able to convince himself to go anywhere, and he wants to do this.

Kailin is the tattoo artist that leads him into the back room. She’s got dark purple hair with light pink highlights, dark tattoos all up and down her arms and neck, dark lipstick to match her dark eyeshadow. As he sits in the chair, he’s thankful that she seems to be the quiet type. And then she ends up talking his ear off, which is what he deserves for stereotyping. 

“Any significance?” she asks about the tattoos, and he nods, staring up at the ceiling. 

“They’re for my kids.”

“How many kids do you have?”

_How many tattoos am I asking you to do?_ he most certainly doesn’t ask the person who’s about to permanently ink him. “Two,” is what he says instead.

“What are their names?”

He closes his eyes. Fucking hell, he should’ve gone with the other tattoo artist who was available. “Jack and Madison.”

“Oh, like these!” she says cheerfully, moving his wrist to look at the tattoos under his thumb. She runs her long nail over them, and he hates it more than words can describe. 

“Yeah, like those.”

It’s quiet for a minute as she begins to work over his wrist, starting with Jack’s piece first. He focuses on the pain, on the buzzing of the machine gun, and he almost reaches a peaceful state of mind until Kailin asks, “So, how’s the wife?”

He tries to remember that he’s normally a nice person. 

“The husband is fine. He’s at work.”

“What does he do for a living?”

He curls his fingers into his left fist, hoping that she’ll take it as a sign of pain instead of irritation. “He’s an event planner.”

“What do _you_ do?”

Harry lets out a bitter laugh. “Nothing,” he says. “Absolutely nothing.”

He doesn’t tell anyone about the tattoos. It was about the kids, done for himself; nobody needs to know about them. It’s not like he’s hiding them, but he is a little sad that Louis notices them that night. He wanted to keep them for himself, just a little longer. At dinner, he kept his right hand under the table the whole time, even though it was difficult eating with his left. 

He’s brushing his teeth when Louis comes into the bathroom with Cooper on his heels. Louis takes a piss and Harry finishes up his teeth, and while he’s spitting into the sink, Louis’ hand darts out towards him to grab his forearm, presumably to get a closer look at the tattoos. 

“You _just_ had your dick in your hands,” Harry huffs with a small smile, pulling his arm away. He has his sleeve pulled down so Jack’s tattoo isn’t visible, but Madison’s is on the flat edge of his palm, just under his pinky knuckle. 

“It’s a bee?” Louis asks, tucking himself back into his pants before roughly nudging Harry out of the way, making a point of washing his hands. Harry stares at him in the mirror and nods, a lip bitten between his teeth. “For Mads?” 

“Yeah.” He hesitates for a moment before holding his hand out to Louis so he can have a closer look. It’s just a simple bumble bee, its fat body shaded carefully to fit well with the rest of it. The wings are closed, so it’s not in flight. It’s just how Kailin drew it and Harry agreed without really thinking about it, but now he likes that it’s not flying. It's content with staying right there, just like Madison is: safe, right next to him, not in a hurry to go anywhere else. 

Louis grabs his wrist to look at it better, but Harry pushes his hand off as the second tattoo stings in pain. “You got another?” Louis assumes, still studying the bee. He adjusts his hand to hold onto Harry’s elbow. 

“I got two more, yeah.”

Louis looks at him and, softly, “Is it okay if I see them?”

He’s looking at Harry like it would be okay if he said no. That he’d completely understand if Harry didn’t want to show him, and it’s exactly why he does want to show him. Louis’ just. . . Louis’ perfect. Harry couldn’t have asked for someone better to do this with. So, he rolls up his sleeps and turns the inside of his wrist to show Louis. 

Louis touches his forearm gently as he takes in the tattoo. This one’s small, too. There was no reason for them to be big. “A polar bear,” Louis says, and Harry nods, staring down at the outline of a polar bear cub tattooed into his skin for the rest of his life. More permanent than Jack could ever be. And that’s morbid, but none of this isn’t. 

“I thought a dog might be too common. Wanted something special for him.”

“I like it a lot,” Louis whispers, and there are tears in his eyes when he looks up at Harry. It makes Harry want to cry, too, but he swallows past it.

“Thanks.”

“And the third one?”

Harry sucks in a small breath as he pulls his shirt off. “I got this one at the last minute,” he admits. “And I couldn’t really think of anything else that would look nice next to cursive writing, so. . .” He turns his arm out so Louis can see the tattoo beneath his name; it’s two simply drawn outlines of swans done in dark black ink, only slightly bigger than a quarter, with two baby swanlings beside them, one behind each of the adult swans. 

He purposefully made sure there was room for other little swanlings, just in case, but Louis doesn’t have to know that. 

“You’re so stupid,” Louis says with a bright laugh, reaching out to touch the tattoo through the plastic. It hurts, although it’s not as sore as Harry’s wrist is. Which sucks, because it’s the tattoo he has found himself brushing his fingers over the most today. 

“They’re the only animal that mate for life that I could remember off the top of my head,” Harry says with a small pout. Kailin was thrilled he wanted another tattoo; that meant she got to finish her story about her ex-boyfriend who cheated on her with her now-girlfriend. And to be honest, Harry sort of wanted to know the ending, too. 

Louis distracts him with a kiss, and Harry wraps his arm around his waist, pulling him closer. 

On the fourth day, Harry is so upset that the only place he can convince himself to go to is his mum’s house in Chelsea again. He’s been trying hard to keep up with this sort of tradition by himself, to make Anne stop worrying and Louis proud, so that’s where he decides to go. Anywhere else would be too hard. 

It’s not like anything is exactly the matter, except for the fact that everything’s the matter. That’s just how it’s been going lately. And _lately_ shouldn’t be the term he uses to cover the last year, because this type of mood is creeping into new-permanent territory. How long do you have to be miserable before you decide that it’s just how you are now?

This is the exact type of day that makes him wish he had told Louis to stay home with forever.

There isn’t anything to do, nothing to distract himself with, so he just sits on the couch and stares off into space. Even as shitty as he feels, he can recognize that it’s better being here. Away from all of Jack’s things, from all of those memories. Maybe they should move. Maybe they should just leave. They could fuck off to the States, even. Anywhere but home, anywhere else that doesn’t feel so suffocating all the goddamn time. 

For the first time in months, he hopes that someone will call. Anyone. He stares at his phone, waiting for someone to think about him and try to call. And when nobody does, it proves to him that fate and hope -- it’s all fiction. 

Convincing himself to get up off the couch and leave to pick up Madison is terrifyingly difficult. He lies they’re thinking, _shit, I should really get up_ for so long that he winds up a whole six minutes late. It’s not a big deal, but it still makes him feel like a terrible parent, so he pretty much jogs into the school’s door and to her classroom. 

Madison is talking to the only child left besides her when he gets to her classroom. They’re by the window, pointing excitedly at something, and she doesn’t notice him when he walks in. The teacher does, though. Being late opened himself up to being talked to. Fucking hell. 

“Mr. Styles,” Ms. Johnson says quietly, stepping away from another adult. She beckons him back outside, and he nervously obeys, thinking he’s about to get scolded. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he tells her. “I had to get gas.”

“It’s fine, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” She looks apprehensive, and Harry leans against the wall, wondering if Jack’s death caused a decline in Madison’s learning or social skills, or if she’s been causing trouble, or -- 

“Is Madison still doing okay in school?” he asks, worried. 

Ms. Johnson is back to beaming. “Oh, she’s doing great. She’s such a good kid. A little. . . a little more independent than the rest of them, I’d say.” She grins. “I think the others call it bossy.”

He lets out a startled laugh. “Yeah, umm. That doesn’t exactly surprise me. Is there something you wanted to talk about, though?”

He wishes Louis was here with him.

“Yes, actually. I, um. I understand that you have a second child, Madison’s twin brother.” She lets out a small sigh as she frowns. “Have or had?” she asks with a wince. “Madison -- she seems to go back and forth with it. Jack’s still here one second, and the next, he had to go away, and. . . and I don’t quite know how to go about it. I’ve been meaning to call home; I was going to bring it up in conferences last month, but neither of you came, and I,” she gives him a pained smile. “I think it could help if I understood the whole story? I hesitate in correcting her because I don’t actually know what the correct answer is. If it’s too personal, I understand, but either way, I think you and your husband should have a talk with her. To see if she understands.”

Harry is silent for a moment, trying to figure this out. He doesn’t much like that it’s November and he hasn’t been told about this until now, but he recognizes that Ms. Johnson is in a tough spot with this. And neither of them went to the parent-teacher conferences, like she said. That isn’t even because of Jack’s death; Harry and Louis both feel like it’s sort of a waste of time to go. Maybe they were wrong. 

“She understands that her brother is dead,” he says slowly, still trying to piece this together. “It happened over a year ago, and she -- around home, anyway, she’s never given us any signs to say that she doesn’t get that. So, what, she’s. . . pretending that he’s still alive?”

“More or less,” she says, voice considerably softer now. “She nearly always used present-tense when talking about him. And she talks about him a lot.”

That makes Harry smile at the same time tears swarm in his eyes. 

“It’s always, ‘Jack and I like to paint,’ and ‘Jack and I ate mashed potatoes last night,’ and ‘Jack and I went to the park.’ But I. . . She told me. That he was sick, I mean. She said he was sick and had to go away, but then in the same talk with me, she said she was going to play with him and the dog when she got home. And we painted again today, and she painted the classroom with a desk that said his name right next to hers. The assistant helped her spell it out.”

Squeezing his hands together in front of him, he takes a deep, steadying breath and looks off to the side for a moment. There are paintings tacked to the wall, but they look far too advanced to be for her grade level. He stares at them for a moment, unfocused, before looking back to Ms. Johnson. 

“Is this bad?” he asks quietly. “Like, she -- she knows he’s dead. We took her to the funeral and explained everything to her. She knows he’s dead, and she’s pretending like he’s still here, so is that -- should I be worried, or is this just how five-year-old’s handle this sort of stuff?”

“She’s a healthy, happy girl. I don’t think we have to be worried. I just think you two need to talk to her, to see if she’s confused or she doesn’t understand or she’s made him into some imaginary friend of sort.”

Harry’s stomach knots at that. He couldn’t handle that last one, her walking around imagining Jack with her. 

“I’ll talk to her tonight,” he says. “Me and my husband, we’ll figure it out. I’m, um. Sorry that you’ve had to deal with this. I didn’t realize she was doing that.”

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Styles, I assure you.” Ms. Johnson gives him a proper smile this time. “I like to hear about my student’s lives. They’ll tell you all sorts of crazy things if you’ll let them.”

She motions him back to the classroom and he follows, suddenly anxious and wondering how serious he should be taking his stomach’s warning that he might puke. 

“Madison, look who I found out in the hallway,” Ms. Johnson says, and Madison whips around to see him. Her smile is so bright that Harry tries to tell himself not to worry, that she’s okay. 

“You’re laaaate,” she sings, running away from her friend and towards him. She lunges towards him full-force, and he catches her with a small groan. 

“Madison, dear, why don’t you take your dad and show him what you painted today, hmm?”

Her smile dims slowly, her eyes wide and guilty as they look into his. So she knows that he’s not actually here; she must, if she thinks she shouldn’t be pretending like he is. 

“It’s drying,” she says quietly, her fingers kneading his coat nervously. 

“I can still look,” he tells her. After kissing the side of her head, he sets her back on the ground and motions for her to show him. Looking apprehensive, she takes his hand and guides him to the back of the room where all the tables are. She takes him to the one farthest away and stands on her tip-toes so she can direct him to the painting he’s already looking at. 

Sure enough, Madison’s drawn a classroom with a door, eight desks, an un-numbered clock, and her and her brother at two desks in the center. Jack’s name is written out in sloppy, pink paint, and there’s just an M on her desk. 

He tries not to make a big deal out of it. “Why does Jack have green eyes, baby bee?”

“Because Manny messed up my paint,” she says, voice sad. “Told him not to put yellow in it. He didn’t believe me that it’d turn it green.”

“Well, I think it still looks nice.”

He’s carefully grabbing the piece of paper as she asks, “You do?”

“‘Course I do.” He crouches down next to her so they can look at the painting together. “I see you even painted your pink shirt that you have on today.”

“And my pigtails,” she says, still quiet, still acting like she’s waiting to be scolded. Harry, Louis and Anne rarely scold her -- honestly, sometimes she could do with a little more reeling in than she gets -- so he doesn’t know where this is coming from. Clearly, they haven’t normalized talking about Jack very well. And, well. . . Harry sure doesn’t talk about him all that often, especially not with her. And now that he thinks about it, he can’t really remember a specific time that Anne and Louis have in the last few days, either. In the beginning, he was all they talked about, but now. . . They promised each other that they wouldn’t let Jack fade. 

“Yeah,” he says with a gentle smile. “I see that.”

He takes them home a few minutes later. As soon as they’re home, he guides Madison to Anne and heads upstairs, his phone already out to call Louis. If Louis can’t answer, he won’t, but if he can, Harry could really use someone to talk to. 

“Hey,” Louis answers, and Harry ungracefully plops into their bed, relief coursing through his veins. Shame and regret are quick to follow it, though, so he can’t feel good for too long. “What’s up?”

Harry explains the situation to him, and once he’s finished, he ends with a, “And, um, I just don’t think we’ve done a good enough job at letting her know that she can talk about him, and I think we need to talk to her tonight, so, like. If you can’t get off early, it’s fine, it can wait, just. . .”

“I have to make one more phone call and then I can come home, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Louis sighs. “This is all coming out of nowhere, right? Like, there’s not been stuff going on at home that I wasn’t aware of?”

“Mum's the one who spends the most time with her,” he admits quietly, ashamed. “I’ll have to double-check with her, but yeah, I don’t think she’s done any of this at home.”

“I feel like that probably makes this more complicated.” Louis sighs again, and there’s some shuffling of papers before he says, “Yeah, babe, I’m going to let you go so I can make this call really fast and come home. Hang tight, yeah?”

Harry lies in bed as he waits, and the entire time he acknowledges that Madison’s doubts aren’t going to be soothed by Harry not being around her, by him avoiding her, but he can’t convince himself to get out of bed. Him not moving gets locked into place as soon as Cooper hops up into bed and curls up in front of him. He tells himself it’s okay, but when Louis gets in and Cooper runs off and Harry doesn’t find it in him to get up, it’s sort of scary.

When he hears feet ascending the stairs, Harry manages to at least sit up. He’s fiddling with the edge of the blanket when Louis comes in, and he looks almost completely relaxed. 

“She’s helping Mum cook dinner, all happy, all smiles.” He sits on the edge of the bed to take his shoes off, and then he turns to Harry with a smile. “It’s probably less concerning than it sounds. Maybe she just doesn’t understand when to use past or present tense or something.”

“She thought that I would be mad.”

“Which is also something that we can easily explain to her,” Louis tells him. “Can I go grab her for a quick chat, or do you want to wait a bit?”

“Sure,” is all Harry says, and Louis nods, stands up and heads downstairs to get her. Anxiety fills his body, for no real reason: it’s not like he’s going to be the main one talking, not when Louis seems to be completely okay with what’s going on. Harry feels like he’s failed Jack _and_ Madison, and Louis just takes it on the chin. He’s always been good like that, but Harry’s never been this bad with it before. 

When Madison is sat between Harry and Louis on the edge of the bed, Louis’ the one to explain to her what they want to talk about. He mentions the paintings and what Ms. Johnson said and asks, “You know he’s gone, right? You remember that he’s not here with us anymore?”

And Harry was right: it was deeper than just a mix-up of grammar. Because Madison looks at him with wide eyes and whispers, “Daddy said I could take him to school with my thoughts.”

Louis glances at him, something unreadable in his eyes. It could be confusion or irritation or something else, Harry honestly can’t tell. “I think Daddy just meant that when we think about him, it’s like he’s there with us. Like, we know that he’s not really there, but it just feels nice to be reminded of him.” He asks again, “Jack’s gone, baby. You do know that, right?”

“Yes,” she says. “He got sick and then we put him in the ground. At the funeral.”

Harry jumps to fix that one. “He got sick and died, and _then_ we put him in the ground. But it’s -- it’s a good thing, right? It’s not scary, being at the cemetery. It’s not anything like that.”

She nods. At least there’s no fear that is associated with that. Or maybe there is, and Harry will find out about it through Ms. Johnson in a few months. “I know. But why can’t I paint him? Because he’s at the cemetery?”

“You can paint him, love,” Louis tells her. “You can paint him all you want. And you can talk about him all you want, too, with anybody you want, just -- just be careful with how you say things, okay? Because when you say things like, ‘Jack paints with me’ or ‘Jack is going to do this with me,’ to other people, it sounds like he’s still here.”

“But he’s in my thoughts,” she says, confused, pointing at her head. “He’s still there.”

Harry and Louis share a helpless look over her head. 

“ _You_ still think about him,” Harry tries. “But even when you think about him, he’s not here, so we use past tense. Like when you talk about something that happened last week, or something. He happened,” he pauses, not liking how that comes out. “He is in the past, even if we can still talk about him.”

She nods very slowly. “But I can still paint him?”

They’ve lost her. She doesn’t understand it, it’s clear, and they’re just going to have to leave it for now and correct her in the times she talks about him like he’s still here. He’ll send Ms. Johnson an email tonight to ask her to correct her when she notices it. There’s not much more they can do. 

“Yes, love,” Louis says, a small frown on his face. “You can paint him now, using the memories of what he used to look like, yes.”

“Okay. Can I go help Grandma cook?”

“Yeah, come on.”

Louis gets up with her, and Harry absolutely does not want to. He gets an expecting look from Louis, though, so he mumbles, “I was going to shower.” That was made up on the spot, but he doesn’t want to be around people right now.

“Go on, baby,” Louis tells Madison, shooing her off. She runs out of the room and down the stairs, and Louis rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath before glancing at Harry. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Louis frowns. “Bad day, or what?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says with a shrug. He stands up and heads over to his dresser, because now he has to shower since he told Louis he was going to. “I’m fine. Go help Mads.”

“Maddie doesn’t need my help. I’ll go start the water; just grab me a pair of clean pants, yeah?”

The intrusion makes Harry irritated. Irritated enough to be open about it. He does grab Louis some fresh clothes, but he doesn’t say anything as he gets undressed in the bathroom and steps into the shower, closing the curtains behind him. Louis opens them, and he’s frowning. 

“I want to be with you. Not through sex, just being with you. But if that makes you uncomfortable, I don’t want -- ”

“Just come on,” Harry says, a little too desperate for someone who was just telling themselves that they were annoyed by the offer. He bites down on his bottom lip. “Please.”

Louis steps into the shower after him once he’s undressed. His arms wrap around Harry’s waist, pulling him close. Initially, Harry has no interest in even the idea of sex, so he doesn’t quite know what changed, what has him turning around in Louis’ arms and kissing him like he hasn’t been kissed in years. When Louis kisses him back, his hand drifting lower, Harry decides that Louis joining him wasn’t that annoying after all. 

-

The following week, Harry slips back into his old routine of waking up, dropping Madison off, coming straight home, and melting into the couch to watch TV. Anne is back to gently encouraging him to go out, as is Louis. But it’s so much less work just laying with Cooper and not doing anything, not dealing with any worried mums or kids in Winnie the Pooh hats or talkative tattoo artists. It’s not peaceful here, but it’s not overly-stressful, either. 

This morning, Harry has only just got back from taking Madison to school when the front door opens. Harry sighs, throwing the blanket over himself; the _one_ day his mum decides to go hang out with her friends instead of tending to him, she’s back within the hour. He wanted to take an hour-long nap in bed with Cooper, and now Cooper is running down the stairs and the front door is being pushed open. Feet come up the stairs too fast to belong to his mum, so Harry sits up, alarmed, until Louis walks into their room. 

“What are you doing home?” Harry asks, slumping back into the pillow. He frowns as he realizes that Louis looks upset. Frantic, almost. His eyes are red and his cheeks are puffy and he’s flexing his hands by his sides. “What’s wrong?”

“Umm,” is all Louis says for a few seconds. “I might’ve done something stupid.”

“How stupid?”

“Uh, like, I made another decision that’s going to affect all of us without talking to you to about it first. That stupid.”

Harry’s frown deepens, although, honestly, he has no idea what it could be. “What did you decide?”

“I’ll go get it if you promise not to be mad.” And he looks distressed, nervous in a way he tries not to be around Harry these days, so Harry nods immediately. 

“Yeah. I won’t be mad. Just go get it.”

“It was really stupid.”

“Love,” Harry says gently. “I won’t be mad. About anything. Don’t worry, please. I’ve done a lot of stupid things throughout our marriage, and we’ve figured it out.”

Louis doesn’t look any less nervous, and Harry is starting to get there, too. What the bloody hell did Louis do? Harry literally can’t think of _anything_ that would warrant such a reaction. 

“You kidnap a kid or something?” Harry asks, half-joking, half-serious.

Louis barks out a surprised laugh. “No. No, just um -- stay here. And don’t get mad.”

Harry sighs quietly as he watches Louis walk away. This is probably going to be bad, whatever it is, because Louis doesn’t normally get nervous like this. Or cry over small things, and he most definitely looked like he was crying. Harry tries to think of what it could be, and he comes up with nothing. Still, he has no idea. Louis has never been predictable, but it’s never been like _this_ before. 

And then he hears Louis come back into the house, followed by a series of little barks that definitely do not belong to Cooper. 

“What the fuck,” Harry mumbles, stunned. He doesn’t move until he hears another bark, and he pulls the blankets back and gets out of bed. He takes the stairs down two at a time, and when he enters the living room, sure enough, there’s a small puppy wiggling about in Louis’ arms, and Cooper is excitedly jumping up to try and see it better. There’s another small bark, and it makes Harry flinch. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, his eyes trailing up to Louis’. And, “Oh, fuck, love, why are you crying?”

Harry crosses the room and sets a hand on his arm, squeezing softly and trying to ignore the puppy right now because it’s far too overwhelming. He takes a deep breath, trying to think, before kissing the side of Louis’ head and snapping his fingers to get Cooper to follow him to the back door. He’s not happy about it, but he follows after Harry anyway because he’s a good dog. Harry can only focus on one dog at the moment. Once Cooper is outside, Harry comes back into the living room and gives Louis a gentle smile. 

“You can put him down now, babe,” he says, nodding at him. Louis sniffles, staring down at the puppy in his arms, and Harry carefully takes the dog -- and a quick glance tells him no, it’s not a boy -- and sets her on the ground. She wiggles happily around like she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself just yet, and then her nose is on the ground, sniffing excitedly. 

Harry’s not exactly thrilled, but he’s not pissed off, either. He just prays that he isn’t brushed up on his dog facts and that’s not a St. Bernard like he thinks it is. Those dogs grow and grow and grow. 

“Are you mad?” Louis asks, sniffling, and Harry blinks, hard, before turning back to look at him. He pulls him into a hug and squeezes him tight. 

“No, love. It’s fine. We can take care of another dog. Mads will probably love it, anyway.”

So would Jack. He’s only sad about that for a second, because then Louis’ crying even harder and asking, “But what if I got two?”

And Jesus Christ, Harry wants an in-depth answer of how this all came to be. Louis was supposed to be at work, and now he’s saying there are two puppies that he wants them to take care of. But that’s for a later time; right now, Harry just holds him closer and whispers, “Then I’d say that I need to go get the other one from your car so he doesn’t freeze, alright? I’ll be right back.” Louis nods against his chest, and Harry pulls away so he can tip his chin up. Louis’ teary blue eyes stare into his, and there’s so much emotion in him that Harry knows this isn’t just about the dogs. And of course it isn’t. Nothing is simple anymore; everything has a deeper meaning. 

“It’s okay,” he says softly, and he leans forward to press a kiss to Louis’ forehead. “Me and Mum can house train them and -- ” he catches the dog going up the stairs out of the corner of his eye, and he cuts himself off to go and stop her, heart pounding as he thinks of Jack’s polar bear on the bed. Her chewing that up would be a sure way to get Harry to be no longer on board with the idea.

“C’mere, baby,” he coos, scooping her up. “Come on, let’s put you. . .” He stares into the puppy’s chocolate brown eyes and her floppy little ears, and it nearly makes him cry, too. “Let’s put little Ms. Hallie back into her dad’s arms, hmm?”

Harry says it loud enough for Louis to hear, and he takes the puppy from Harry, holding her close. She whimpers irritatingly loud, but it’s fine. “This one isn’t Hallie,” Louis tells him tiredly, stroking over the dog’s ears. “This one’s Snoopy.”

“But she’s a girl,” Harry says, remembering Jack’s request for the names. That was basically his last fucking wish, and Harry won’t give that up.

“So is the other one,” Louis mumbles, shutting his eyes. And, well. Right, he’s already forgotten there’s a second one. “But Snoopy’s got darker fur than her sister, and Snoopy was white and black, wasn’t he, so it’s -- this one’s Snoopy.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry agrees easily. He kisses Louis’ cheek and then Snoopy’s head because she’s undeniably cute, and it makes Louis smile weakly. 

Louis’ car window is cracked, so Harry peeks inside to see a puppy almost identical to her sister with giant paws that she slides over everything with. She’s attempting to jump onto the backseat when he calls for her, and she looks so fucking excited as she hurries towards the window, barking equally as high-pitched as her sister. As Snoopy.

God, Jack would’ve been fucking ecstatic. This _was_ supposed to be their reality, except they would have taken Jack to the animal shelter and let him pick the dog out. Dog, singular. Once he was better, Jack could have gotten any dog that he wanted. But Jack never had the chance to get better, did he?

“Come on, little one,” he says with a small sigh, opening the door. She tries to make a break for it, which Harry was fully expecting, so he scoops her up before she can run away. He shuts the door and stares down at her dark, pretty eyes. “Where did Daddy get you from, hmm? I hope he didn’t steal you.” He pauses, and then with a groan, “God, I hope he didn’t steal you.”

He takes Hallie into the house, where he finds Louis sitting on the floor with Snoopy. She’s biting on his finger, but it must not hurt because he doesn’t stop her. As soon as Hallie sees Snoopy, she kicks off against Harry and jumps down, and Harry’s heart lurches in his chest as she takes a nose-dive into the tile. She gets right back up like it didn’t even hurt and makes a beeline towards her sister, their little furry paws a blur against the wood floors. 

Harry shuts the door behind him. “You didn’t steal them, did you?” he asks, and Louis wipes his tears before looking up at him. 

“No. I was going to look at this venue for one of my client’s, and I stopped at a gas station to pee, and there was this guy selling them out of the back of his truck. There were only two left when I got there. Felt like fate, or something.”

Harry frowns, sitting down on the floor next to Louis. “Okay,” he says. “But, like. Don’t do that again, okay? I’m pretty sure people get kidnapped that way.”

“Would’ve been worth it,” Louis mumbles with a short laugh. He motions towards Snoopy and Hallie, who are sort of just jumping at each other. “They’re adorable.”

“They’re going to be massive when they get older.”

Louis sighs quietly before setting his head on Harry’s shoulder. Part of Harry thinks he should ask why he was so upset, but the other part of him already knows the answer. They promised Jack that they’d get a new dog, and they finally did, and he’s not around to see it because he got ripped from them far too soon. Harry’s heartbroken over it, too. There’s no further explanation needed. 

Because of the dogs, the house no longer knows peace. At all. It’s chaotic and loud, and one of them is always either barking or peeing or playing too rough. Snoopy is a little fucker who likes to bite _everyone_ , but she’s far better at telling Harry when she has to use the bathroom than Hallie, and if Harry isn’t in Hallie’s sight, she whines and whines and whines until he inevitably gives in. His mum tells him that he shouldn’t do that, that it’s just reinforcing bad behavior, but she’s so small and cute and she sounds so fucking sad, and it’s _annoying_. Cooper stays Harry’s calm, precious boy. There was one time that he growled at Snoopy after she bit Madison’s finger and she cried out; it made Harry nervous since he couldn’t even remember the last time that he heard Cooper growl, but after Anne made it clear that was a no-no, he hasn’t done it since. Harry can’t hold it against him, not when he now has two new little shits following him around and biting on his ears right after the twins grew up. 

On December twentieth, the dogs have been around for over a month, and he wakes up to Hallie whimpering outside the bedroom door. It’s only eight-thirty in the morning, and Harry groans quietly. Louis started his two-week long vacation two days ago, and this is coincidentally the second morning that Harry wakes up to Hallie whimpering for him because Louis keeps forgetting to keep the door open on his way out. 

There’s no point in trying to ignore it -- he’s tried -- so he gets out of bed with an angry huff and opens the door. The way she gets so bloody excited to see him erases his irritation, and he picks her up off the floor. He holds her like a baby because that’s just what he’s used to, and he heads down the stairs with her, quietly cooing at her on the way down. Louis and Anne are in the kitchen watching Cooper and Snoopy run around outside, and Harry sighs.

“You forgot one,” he says tiredly, fixing his hold on Hallie so he can steal whoever’s coffee is on the table. She squirms in his arms as she tries to see what is in the cup, and he tightens his arm around her. 

“She didn’t want to go outside,” Louis says, and he turns from the window. “I don’t think she likes the snow.”

“‘Cause she wanted me. And _someone_ left the door shut again.” He gives Louis a soft smile to show he’s not actually mad as he sits down at the table. He thinks about letting Hallie down before deciding against it, keeping her close. They bought puppy stairs for the bed, so she would’ve crawled right up and snuggled against him until he woke up. Or until she made it known that she had to use the bathroom, something that she’s been getting better at in the last two weeks or so. 

“If you keep spoiling her,” Anne starts, and Harry waves his hand at her. 

“She deserves to be spoiled. _Look_ at her.”

Hallie’s nearly asleep against his chest, constantly sleepy in the way newborns are. Harry and Anne took them to the vet a few days after Louis got them, and she said that St. Bernards are kind of a lazy breed, which is something he doesn’t mind. Ever since Jack got sick, they’ve just been shit at walking Cooper, and he couldn’t walk them all by himself now even if he wanted to. Their backyard is big enough for them to run around and wear themselves out, and most days, Louis goes outside to play with them, anyway.

“He’s going to start dressing them up soon,” Louis mumbles fondly before turning back to the window. 

As chaotic as the puppies are, Harry sort of appreciates the distraction. They’re young and attention-starved and never miss an opportunity to take a nap with him -- in other words, they’ve become his new purpose. He can’t function without being actively needed by someone, and now he’s got two new someones, even if they are incredibly annoying sometimes. 

Taking care of a puppy isn’t all that much different from taking care of a newborn. They cry the same, wake him up in the middle of the night the same, demand his attention as soon as he’s awake the same. They look at him like he’s the entire universe, just like Jack and Madison did when they were little. The only real difference is that Hallie and Snoopy also bite his fingers and drop toys next to him no matter where he is and follow him to the bathroom, denying him even an ounce of privacy -- and really, toddlers do that, too. He distinctly remembers Jack being quite bitey as a baby. 

Harry knew he wanted more kids, but these fucking dogs remind him of it every day, and each day it’s getting harder and harder not to spill that secret. 

He presses a kiss to Hallie’s head and tries not to feel so guilty over it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting more kids, there’s nothing -- but Louis hasn’t mentioned it even once. It terrifies him. 

-

On Christmas, Harry wakes up to Snoopy stepping on his face as she tries to get comfortable on Harry’s pillow. Like there isn’t any other space to lay. He groans quietly, flipping onto his side to face Louis. He’s already awake; Hallie is on his chest, and he’s petting her with one hand while petting Cooper with the other. 

“Hallie is a lot sweeter than Snoopy,” Louis says quietly, staring down at her with adoring eyes. She’s out cold, little snores escaping her every few seconds. 

“Snoopy just knows what she wants in life,” Harry mumbles. “You can’t knock that.”

Louis gives him a soft smile, those adoring eyes now turned towards Harry. “I didn’t realize how happy they would make you. When I brought them home, I was so sure you’d be pissed, but you’re not. Mum says they’re probably the best thing we could’ve done for you.”

Shame tugs at Harry’s stomach as that secret rolls around his mind again. It’s too easy to picture toddlers and Madison up on this bed, too, begging them for permission to open presents. One would be tucked underneath Louis’ arm, next to Cooper, and the other would be in Harry’s arms. Everyone would be so happy, and Harry would feel so _full_. 

There’s a possibility he could get that if he just _asked_. He has no idea where Louis’ head is at with this, so he shouldn’t let himself get so defeated. There’s never been a no, not yet. Even if they could just _talk_ about it, Harry would be so, so happy. 

So, carefully, he says, “They make me feel like a dad again.”

Louis frowns, eyebrows coming together in confusion. His hand presses flat against Cooper’s back, its movements stopped. “You still are a dad.”

“Obviously,” Harry says with a small frown of his own. “But, like. I haven’t _felt_ like a father in a really long time. And that’s -- maybe that’s wrong, I don’t know. I love Mads, of course I do, but I haven’t -- I haven’t felt like a _good_ father in a long time. Maybe that’s what I meant.”

“And you think you’re a good dog daddy?” Louis asks, his smile slowly creeping back onto his face. He clearly doesn’t quite understand what Harry’s hinting at. 

“Please,” Harry says with a scoff. “I’m the best. They love me.” He bites on his bottom lip, trying to feel Louis out here. “Makes me feel like we’ve got newborns all over again. Two little babies crying for me all the time.”

“Yeah, I guess. Kind of. I’m a lot less worried about accidentally killing these ones, though. They’re better communicators than babies.”

Louis’ not saying what Harry wants him to say, so Harry takes a deep breath and asks, “Do you miss it? Having a baby?” It’s not what he really wants to know, but it’s close enough. And he’s hoping for a wide smile, or a wistful look, but all he gets is another confused frown. 

“What are you saying, Harry?”

Harry feels himself flush. “Exactly what I said,” he hurries out, defensive. “Do you miss having a baby in the house? That’s all.”

Louis sits up, carefully supporting Hallie, who wakes up and yawns. He doesn’t look happy. _Shit,_ Louis does not look happy. “I don’t know if I do or not, but I have a feeling that’s not what you’re really asking.”

“What else would I be asking, Louis?” Harry snaps, sitting up, too. If the positions were flipped, Louis asking a question like that would scare Harry off, and he’d backtrack. That’s what he’s hoping for here. But clearly, Louis knows him better than he knows Louis. 

“You’re asking if I want more kids,” Louis says flatly, like there’s not a doubt in his mind. Like Harry really is that obvious. It makes Harry’s skin burn even worse. 

“I didn’t ask that,” Harry mutters, swinging his legs off the bed. When he stands, he gets a little light-headed, but he quickly steadies himself. Within seconds, Hallie is flinging herself off the side of the bed, ignoring the puppy stairs, so she can follow Harry to the bathroom. 

“Harry,” Louis says. “We should talk about this.” And he sounds disappointed, like he’s about to break some hard news to Harry, and Harry absolutely can’t hear it, so shakes his head. 

“It’s Christmas. We’re not talking about anything.”

Louis tries to say something else, but Harry quickly shuts the door once Hallie’s paws are safely out of the way. He shakes his head at himself, angry and devastated. It was the wrong time to even try to bring it up. It’s Christmas, and Harry can’t let them have a shit Christmas for the second year in a row. He’s been better at putting on a happy face for his family, but he won’t be able to manage that if Louis’ upset with him. 

“Hallie, love,” Harry mumbles, staring down at her. She’s chewing on the bath mat, and he quickly stops her by picking her up and telling her firmly that that’s a no. And then, because he feels bad, he kisses her on the head and tells her she’s a good girl. He can’t stay mad at any of the dogs for very long, just like he never could with Jack or Madison. 

-

It’s not like he can avoid Louis all day. He tries, of course, but it fails almost as soon as he leaves the bathroom and heads to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. It’s only seven, but he won’t be able to go to bed with the anxiety gnawing on his nerves from what Louis thinks he meant. _Knows_ he meant. Hallie sits patiently by his feet as he starts the pot, and when he turns around, Louis is standing in the doorway with Snoopy in his arms and Cooper behind him. 

Instantly, Harry thinks he’s going to cry. 

“We’re going to talk about this,” Louis says sternly, and Harry shakes his head. 

“Not on Christmas.”

Louis sets Snoopy down on the ground, and she slips between his legs to go sniff at Cooper, who pays her no attention. “It doesn’t matter what day it is, not when it’s about this.”

Harry gets that urge to flee again, just like he did that day he fought with Louis and left. His hands tighten on the counter, the lump in his throat grows wider. Being told no isn’t not an option, and he’d rather run away on Christmas than have to hear that. He thought he could handle a no, but he was wrong; he should’ve just never said anything, because living in uncertainty and shame was somehow easier than this. 

“Not today,” Harry begs. “Please.”

Louis gives him a long look. His eyes are searching, while the rest of him is still. Hallie barks for no reason by Harry’s feet, and he ignores her, too busy pleading Louis with his eyes not to say anything, to keep his mouth shut about this. 

And then Louis says, “I honestly don’t know if I want more kids, Harry. I don’t think I do, but if it’s something that -- ”

“I told you not to fucking do this to me today,” Harry says, words spoken far too loudly in a house in which their daughter sleeps. He glares until he can’t anymore, until his eyes are drowned in tears, and he lets out a small sob as he picks Hallie up, taking her to the back door. He hears Louis take a few steps towards him, so Harry doesn’t even bother taking the time on putting the boots and coat on that he grabs from the rack before walking outside, shutting the door behind him. 

The cement is untouched from the snow thanks to the patio’s awning, but it’s still fucking freezing. Quickly, he slides his feet into the boots and slides the jacket on, and Hallie stares up at him, waiting for some sort of signal. 

“Go potty,” he tells her weakly, tears starting to leak down his cheeks. He sniffles and wipes his cheek on his coat. “Come on, baby. Let’s go potty.” He motions for her to follow him out onto the snow-covered grass; Snoopy will pee the second she gets outside, right by the back door if they don’t herd to the grass fast enough, while Hallie still needs a supervisor. It’s irritating at four o’clock in the morning after she’s whined her way into waking one of them up to pee, but right now, it’s comforting. 

As comforting as anything can be when he’s crying on Christmas because his husband just told him he didn’t think he wanted any more kids, anyway. 

He tries to calm himself down, tries to reason with it. Louis has as much of a right not to want kids as Harry does to want them. He shouldn’t throw a fit about it, but he begged Louis, _begged_ him, not to do this today, and he did it anyway. And Louis didn’t definitively say no, he just phrased it in a way to make this all about Harry instead of _them_. Harry wants Louis to want it. He wants him to see more kids running around on Christmas, too, wants him to think about Madison having another sibling to open presents with and it’s -- it’s too much. 

He chokes on a bitter sob. He should stop being so fucking delusional, anyway: he can’t take care of another kid. Or maybe it’s that he shouldn’t want to, because he’s still a fucking wreck and subjecting a kid to that is cruel. And it’s obvious to even him that he still hasn’t worked through Jack’s death and that this is probably just a way to try and fill that gaping hole in his heart, which is wrong and selfish, he knows that. He _knows_ that. But he also knows that Jack and Madison would have been the best big siblings and that Madison would hassle her little siblings and tell them all about Jack. 

When Hallie is done using the bathroom, Harry’s still not done crying, so he walks back to the patio and sinks down into the couch and sobs as quietly as he can manage into his elbow. It’s one of those cries that he knows is not simply about the current situation, that it’s been building up for days; he’s just glad that Louis is allowing him some privacy right now. Hallie climbs into his lap and he holds her so close he swears he can feel her heartbeat against his chest. 

He tries to stop crying, but it’s impossible when _God, Jack would’ve loved you,_ keeps looping in his head like it’s doing anything to help. Jack would’ve held her and helped them potty train her. He would’ve ran inside after school to check-in on all of them individually, cooing at them and petting them and asking them about their days. And Jack would’ve loved the puppies, he would’ve, but Harry knows, he _knows,_ that Cooper would still be his favorite, that he’d be the one to curl up with Jack at night. 

When the door opens after Harry’s been outside for a while, he knows it’s his mum. He just knows it. And when he hears her sigh softly, he stands and shakes her head. 

“I’m not talking about it with you,” he says, voice trembling. 

She frowns. “Louis didn’t even tell me what it was about. What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m not talking about it.”

He moves to side-step his mum to get to the door, even though he still has tears slipping down his cheeks. She tries stopping him, but he mumbles something about Hallie getting cold and it gets her to move. 

Louis’ sitting in the kitchen still, and as if that’s not bad enough, Madison is sitting across from him at the table. She looks happy to see him, at first, and then she notices that he’s crying. He sets Hallie down quickly and wipes his cheeks, sniffs quietly. 

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” she asks with a pout, and he gives her a weak smile. 

“Nothing, baby. Happy Christmas.” He crosses the kitchen to kiss her on the head and give her a squeeze before retreating back to the bedroom. He crawls back into bed and shuts his eyes and tries his hardest to go back to sleep, because he clearly shouldn’t have decided to get up this morning at the time he did. He needs a reset, needs to stop feeling this horrible so early on. And when footsteps come up the stairs, again, he just knows in his gut that it’s Louis. 

“You’ve made Maddie think something’s wrong,” Louis says quietly, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t come to sit by Harry, which stings beyond belief. It’s why he doesn’t give a response to what Louis said. “It’s Christmas, Harry.”

“I fucking know that,” Harry snaps, and the efforts of his tears are amplified again as his eyes shoot up. “I know that, that’s why I fucking _begged_ you not to tell me no today, and you did it anyway.”

“I didn’t tell you no. A conversation like that is a lot more complex than a simple yes or no, isn’t it?”

“ _No_ ,” he says. “Either you want kids, or you don’t. There’s nothing complex about that.”

Louis frowns, crossing his arms. “Then I don’t think I can answer your question just yet. But it’s not a no, love. Please don’t be so upset.”

That’s an impossible ask right now. It feels completely unfair, too. And he doesn’t even have a good enough answer to that, so he drops his head back to the pillow and closes his eyes, pleading with sleep to come take him. 

“I told Maddie that we’d open presents at nine,” Louis tells him quietly, and Harry hears the door open. “I’ll wake you in an hour, then.”

He leaves, shutting the door behind him, and Harry’s eyes shoot open in irritation. He _told_ Louis to stop closing the door behind him, _fuck._ As if on cue, Hallie starts whining at the door two minutes later. 

-

Sleep doesn’t come, so he’s still sniffing quietly an hour later when Louis comes back up to their room. He’s not crying anywhere, but his nose is stuffy from his little sob-fest earlier. 

“Maddie really wants to open her presents, love,” Louis whispers to him when he realizes Harry’s awake. This time, he does sit on the edge of the bed to be by Harry, and he sets his hand on Harry’s hip. Hallie is burrowed under the covers with him, and she squirms against him, pulling a smile out of him. 

“You got a friend under there?” Louis asks fondly, pulling back the covers so he can peek at Hallie. She kicks Harry’s stomach trying to flip over from her belly, and it doesn’t hurt now, but it will in a year or two when she’s grown to her full size. He has no idea how this cute little thing is going to grow into a massive dog; he’ll believe it when he sees it. 

“She’s keeping me warm,” Harry whispers, because he really doesn’t want this entire day to be shit. It’s _Christmas_. It already sucks enough not having Jack here, and Harry doesn’t want to make it any worse.

“Are you ready to come downstairs? We can -- the other thing. We can talk about it at a different time.”

Harry bites down on his lip as tears flush his eyes again, and Louis quickly shushes him. 

“Hey,” he says gently. “It’s not a no. I promise, I’m not completely set on not having any more kids. But I can definitely tell you that it’s a no for right now, like, not anytime soon. Can that -- I mean, can that be okay for right now?”

It has to be. Harry doesn’t have a choice, does he? So, he takes a deep breath and nods. Slowly, he sits up and helps Hallie off the bed before following Louis down the stairs. Madison is on him in an instant, jumping up on him wearing a Santa hat and begging to let her open the presents sitting underneath the tree downstairs. The puppies still won’t do stairs, so they figured it was the safest bet. 

“Come on, baby bee,” he says, ushering her forward. She cheers and runs down the stairs, causing Louis to sigh and Cooper to run after her. They carry the puppies downstairs and hold them in their laps so they don’t get into anything they shouldn’t, and by the time the floor is covered in wrapping paper, Harry’s got both puppies nestled together in his lap while Cooper sits with Madison. 

It’s a nice Christmas, even with Jack's name thudding in Harry’s veins to the rhythm of his pulse. _Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack._

-

They manage to have a decent discussion about the possibility of adopting kids a few days later. It’s the first day in a while that it hasn’t snowed, so Louis uses that and guilt-tripping about not spending enough time with Cooper to convince Harry to agree to take him out on a walk. Hallie and Snoopy haven’t been trained to be good walkers yet, so it’ll be a hassle to get them to behave. They’ll have to do that on a day where there isn’t so much ice. 

“I want to talk about this without it being a fight,” Louis tells him before they’ve even left their property. He’s got a tight hold on Cooper’s leash while Harry’s hands are tucked in his pockets of a thick winter coat. 

“I don’t mean to be so defensive,” Harry mumbles. The cold is already getting to him, and he sniffles, burrowing his hands deeper into the wool lining. “I just, like. . .” He trails off, not knowing how to describe. 

“Panic,” Louis finishes for him. Harry shrugs, ducking his head down. 

“Maybe. But I won’t now, because I -- I want to talk about this.”

“I think we have to,” Louis agrees. 

Cooper is walking leisurely in front of them with a Christmas sweater on that looks equally adorable as it does dumb. He seems content, even though his paws are probably getting cold. They won’t be out long. 

“So,” Louis says, a little nervously. “You for sure want more kids?”

Harry already feels judged, scolded, even though Louis’ barely began. “Yes. I’ve always wanted a big family.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, like, two more. Or three. I don’t know, Louis, I just know that I want more.”

Louis’ quiet for a second, clearly thinking. It makes Harry nervous, but he understands that Louis isn’t as sure as Harry is about where he stands. “Can I say something that you won’t like?”

Harry stares down at the cement. Mostly everyone in their neighborhood pays people to plow their sidewalk, including them, so there’s not too much snow. “Yes.”

Louis doesn’t hesitate to say, “I think you’re really, really sad, and I think you think adopting more kids will fix that. And it just won’t, Harry.”

_It will,_ Harry thinks desperately, _it has to._ But he knows that’s not how it works. Adopting another kid won’t close that hole in his chest -- nothing can, and he can’t expect it to. More kids might even make it worse, their tiny fingers prying the hole open further, reminding him of all the ways Jack was and can’t be. But Harry can’t accept that. He wants more kids, and he won’t let himself get in the way of that. 

“I’m not trying to replace him,” Harry whispers, and Louis quickly agrees. 

“I know you’re not. I understand that. But I think. . . I think us losing Jack opened our eyes to a lot of. . . insecurities you might have. If we get another baby, Haz, it’ll grow up, too. It’ll eventually not need you as much as you might want to be needed. I think you need to find that somewhere else.”

They’re supposed to be talking about the possibilities of kids, not Harry’s fucking shortcomings as a person. He says as much, and Louis sighs. 

“I’m not certain either way,” Louis tells him. “I’ve always wanted more kids, too, but I can’t picture our family expanding. Not right now, and I can’t tell you if that’s ever going to change. I just can’t.”

Harry tries not to let his disappointment show, but it must, because Louis tucks his hand alongside Harry’s in the pocket, his fingers rubbing over his wrist gently. 

“I understand that our plan was always to have a bigger family,” Louis says, voice so soft like if he spoke any longer, it’d be enough to break Harry to pieces. “You’re allowed to be upset that I don’t know if I see that as our plan anymore. I don’t. . . I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be upset with me. I just need you to understand where I’m coming from.”

And Harry does, but he’s selfish and desperate. 

“Madison is already six. She would want another sibling.”

“Madison is not the one raising them,” Louis argues. “It doesn’t entirely matter what she wants in this situation.”

Usually, there’s a middle ground they can reach, a compromise to make them both content. But there’s no way to have that here: one of them will get their way, and the other won’t. Unless Louis changes his mind, then Harry doesn’t see him being the one to win this debate. And Harry just has to wait and hope that Louis comes around? That’s. . . he doesn’t know if he can do that. He wouldn’t be able to handle that, the looming possibility of never having another kid again, of Madison being his one and only -- perfect, perfect -- child. But he just has to be okay with it. Being angry with Louis won’t change anything. 

“Say something,” Louis whispers. 

Harry scoffs quietly. “There’s nothing to say, is there?”

“I want nothing more than to make you happy, babe, but this is the one thing I don’t know if I can give you. I’m sorry.”

“Just don’t,” Harry says, pulling his hands out of his pockets so Louis’ slips out, too. He stops in his tracks and wipes his hands down his face, shaking his head. “Don’t make this into something _I_ want. It was something we _both_ wanted. Before any of this happened, before I was ever sad.”

“Things have changed,” Louis says slowly, like Harry doesn’t fucking know that.

“Yeah,” he says, taking a step back. “Clearly things have.”

He turns around to walk back home. It’s not like he hurries, or anything; he’s not running away. This conversation is over, and that’s all they came out here for. So he doesn’t know why Louis asks him to wait, or why he doesn’t follow him back. He doesn’t know anything anymore. 

Being mad at Louis feels selfish, but accepting that he won’t ever have another kid again is far more selfless than he could ever ask himself to be. Where do they go from here? What does this mean for them? Maybe nothing will change, but isn’t that the exact opposite of what Harry wants? Of what he needs?

When Harry gets back home, Madison is sitting a few feet away from the door in the center of the living room. There are clothes tossed all about, and there’s one of Madison’s sweaters that she grew out of around Hallie’s body and Snoopy is eating another. She must be playing dress up with them -- it’s something Jack used to do with Cooper all the time. Jack would go into their room without them knowing, and the next thing they knew, Cooper was walking around in one of their shirts, Jack giggling behind him. 

“Hi, Daddy,” Madison says, only briefly glancing up. 

“Hi, baby bee.”

He doesn’t react to the puppies running towards him at first, too out of it to care about that right now. Hallie paws at his calf, and Snoopy starts to nibble on his shoelaces. 

“You’re going to love me forever, right?” Harry asks quietly, stepping around the dogs to come closer to her. She doesn’t look up at him, too focused on folding an old shirt of hers that has a wet-patch on it, most likely from Snoopy. 

“Yes, Daddy,” she says. 

“Forever? You sure? That’s a long time, sweets.”

She looks up at him, her lip tucked between her teeth. A habit she must have picked up from school, because she didn’t really used to do it before. “Forever, promise. Can we watch the doctor show?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

He walks to the coffee table to grab the remote, and he has two little puppies wobbling after him. He looks down at them and sighs. “What about you two, hmm?” he asks, bending down to pet them both. “You going to love me forever, two?”

Snoopy bites down on his thumb hard -- they’ve _got_ to get her to stop doing that before her growth starts to take off -- and Hallie licks at his hand. In their own ways, he’s certain those are two yeses. 

-

Louis wants to work this out. Harry doesn’t see what there is to work out. He says as much one night, and it earns him a betrayed look from Louis. 

“Say that to me again and I might think you’re thinking about leaving me,” Louis says, and Harry rolls his eyes. They’re in bed, and he turns to face the wall. 

“Now who’s the paranoid one?”

“You can be mad,” Louis tells him. It’s been three days since their talk, and he’s been telling Harry that non-stop. “You can be mad, but you can’t be closed off. We need to talk about this, Harry. I don’t want this coming between us.”

It already feels very much between them. 

“I’m not being closed off,” he says. “I told you how I felt. I don’t know what else there is to say. If you don’t want another kid with me, then I can’t force you to. That’s all there is to it.”

“You’re being a jerk.”

And Harry’s not trying to be, he’s really not. Honestly, he just doesn’t see the point of talking about it. This will be yet another thing that Harry has to struggle to accept, yet another thing that has shattered his reality. 

He used to be such a happy person. He forgets that sometimes. After Jack’s diagnosis, he was sad, but he persevered through it. For Jack. And now that motivation is just _gone._ Yes, he still has Madison. Yes, he still has Louis. But that doesn’t change the fact that the one thing he held onto so tightly to stay calm got torn away from him. 

“I’ve dealt with you being distant for over a year now the best that I can,” Louis says, and he sounds like he’s crying. “But I can’t deal with you pulling away from me even more. It’s only been three days, Harry, and you’re already so much further away.”

“This is not about _me_ ,” Harry snaps. “It’s not about me pulling away or being sad or whatever else you keep saying, it’s about me wanting more fucking kids and my husband saying _no._ I should have the right to cope with that however I fucking want to.”

“I didn’t even say no.”

And that -- that’s fucked up. Harry can’t take this maybe. _Maybe._ What the fuck does that even mean? He dealt with uncertainty for nearly three fucking years, and it didn’t work out well for him the first time, and he’s certain his luck won’t change for it to work out this time. Harry is so _sick_ of things being up in the air. He’s sick of not knowing what to do or expect or where the pain is going to come from next. 

And it’s not Louis’ fucking fault that he doesn’t know yet, or that Harry is still such a fucking mess, and that’s why he doesn’t want to fucking talk about it. About anything. 

It’s why Harry gets out of bed, his frail bones cracking as he goes. It’s why it hurts so much when none of the dogs follow him. It’s why when Louis asks him where he’s going, he just says he’s not tired anymore. It’s why he has no idea what _‘it’_ actually is anymore. 

-

Louis goes back to work six days later, the same day Madison goes back to school, and he’s scared. Scared enough to tell Harry. 

“I don’t like where we are right now,” Louis whispers to him. It’s six in the morning and Harry can’t fucking sleep anymore so he’s on his third cup of coffee; he’s at the kitchen table where he’s been for the last two hours. Louis’ only just joined him, and he’s already making Harry’s head hurt. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. You barely talked to me at all this past week, worse than normal. After New York, after -- I thought we were getting better, and now we’ve gotten worse.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Harry says calmly, but he does nothing more to soothe Louis and he doesn’t even look at him, so maybe that’s not the truth. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore. 

“You are completely shut down with me now. That hurts me, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. 

“You acting like this won’t make me change my mind.” And the ways he says it so accusatory, so sure, makes Harry’s blood boil. 

“And I’m not fucking changing mine,” he snaps, because he won’t just sit here and be accused of trying to manipulate his husband when all he’s doing is _feeling_. 

“So that’s it?” Louis asks, standing up from the table. He sounds frantic. “ _This_ is what’s going to break us, _really?_ After _everything?_ ”

The fact that Harry’s first instinct isn’t to assure him that that isn’t the truth is scary. Or it should be, but Harry can’t find it in him to be anything other than angry and _tired._ So tired. 

“I’m fine,” Harry says. 

Louis scoffs. “ _You_ are a jackass.”

“And _you_ have to get ready for work.”

Louis scoffs again, and this time, it’s weakened by the amount of hurt in it. He shuffles on his feet before leaving the room, and Harry just sits, drinking his coffee and nudging his toes against Cooper under the table every few minutes. When Louis returns to the kitchen, dressed for work and pissed, all Harry can manage to do is look away. 

“For someone who is so scared of being alone, you sure do a good job of keeping yourself that way,” Louis says, voice dripping with venom. 

It makes Harry shrug, eyes unfocused where they land on the table. “I don’t think I’m scared of that anymore.”

No, because what’s scarier than being alone is _feeling_ alone when he’s around other people. _Tha_ t is what’s terrifying. And that’s been his life since the minute they found out Jack died and Louis pushed his touch away. 

And that fucking hurts, having to say they _found out_ Jack died. He wasn’t there with his son when he died, he had to _find that information out_. The difference shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it does. 

Louis clenches his jaw, shakes his head. There are tears in his eyes, contrasting with the anger. When Harry looks at him, he can’t look away. Louis bites down on his lip before saying, “I didn’t think losing Jack would mean losing you, too.”

And again, Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, so he takes a long sip of his coffee and listens to Louis leave. 

-

The wedge between Harry and Louis stays strictly between Harry and Louis until it just doesn’t anymore. A fucking ocean gets birthed between him and his mum the second she pokes her nose into their business. Louis didn’t feel the need to tell her about their disagreement for the first time, and the minute she finds out from Harry, she somehow is immediately on Louis’ side. 

The argument the three of them have over dinner two days after Louis goes back to work is probably the worst argument Harry’s ever been in, the most hurtful, the tension so thick he chokes on it. Everyone’s angry and hurt and ruthless -- nobody backs down. It only ends because the neighbor is knocking on the door to bring Madison back home. 

It starts with her asking what is going on between them. They’ve been acting off, she says, and apparently Madison is starting to take notice. When neither of them answers that, she turns her daggers to _Harry_. 

“You’re being cruel to him,” she says. “I didn’t raise you to be like this.”

Louis shakes his head, sitting up more in the chair. “Don’t take sides. Don’t isolate him. He won’t talk to me, and he has to talk to somebody.”

It’s like he realizes that Harry’s barely even here, too. That he can just talk about him like he’s not here, because he’s _not,_ not really. 

“He doesn’t talk to me, either. He never has. He’s too stubborn.”

And then Harry quickly fucking finds himself, because he is so _sick_ of people telling him that he’s mourning wrong. 

“I’m not fucking _stubborn,_ ” Harry snaps, and he’s the first to yell. He’ll admit that. “I am _hurting_. I’m _allowed_ to hurt. Don’t you dare insult me because you don’t like the way I’m doing it.”

“That has been your defense for a _year_ now.”

And that everything happens so fast that Harry can’t even remember how it got as bad as it did. It was messy -- so, so fucking messy. It was Harry attacking them both like a wounded animal with his foot caught in a trap. Anne defended Louis like it was her fucking _job_. She accuses Harry of not helping himself, of hurting everyone around him, of acting _spoiled_. And Louis -- he goes back and forth between defending Harry and yelling at him, too. Harsh words are thrown with so much force that he can practically hear the blood splatter. 

When they hear that knock, they all look at each other like they have no idea what just happened. Harry almost wants to beg for everyone to forget that these last fifteen minutes just happened, but he knows it’s too late. 

His mother saying _you should be ashamed of yourself, Harry,_ is what keeps rattling around Harry’s head, along with Louis’, _I don’t even recognize you anymore._

Undoubtedly, Harry’s brash, _I don’t want to keep fighting with you, not when there’s nothing to fucking fight for anymore,_ is what’s haunting Louis. 

And Harry has no idea what insult he threw at his mum hurt the most, but he’s also not sure she didn’t deserve any of them. 

Another knock. Anne’s the one to get up. Louis and Harry just keep staring at each other, both knowing that it’s going to be hard to come back from this. This wasn’t their normal catty fight that gets a little heated -- this was brutal. Personal. Completely inexcusable. 

This was the beginning of an end. 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it! next and final part should be posted on the 30th :) lmk what you think!!
> 
> tumblr: bravestylesao3  
> twitter: bravestylesao3  
> i love talking to you all :D


	3. Chapter 3

-

He starts spending so much time in Chelsea that he’s bought food to stock the fridge with. Every day after he drops Madison off, he heads to his mum’s and stays there until it’s time to pick her up. After that, he drives them home, gets Madison settled, and then slips into the bedroom, taking the dogs with him. When Louis comes home, he comes into the bedroom wordlessly, changes, and then leaves just as silent as he came. Half the time, Harry won’t even come downstairs for dinner. He’s hurting their daughter, and he fucking knows that, and he fucking hates it, but Madison comes with Anne and Louis, and he can’t handle them. He _won’t_. 

For five straight days after the fight, Harry and Louis don’t say a word to each other, not one. Harry doesn’t talk to his mum, either. It’s just him and his daughter and his dogs -- that’s it. Anne and Louis fix their issues quickly, because of course they do. It feels like they get on in spite of him sometimes. To make him feel more dysfunctional than he already does. 

During those five days, Harry doesn’t once think of a divorce. It turns out the same can’t be said for Louis. 

On the sixth morning, Harry’s awake at five o’clock because he can’t sleep when Louis’ next to him anymore. It’s too close to letting his guard down. Long after giving up and getting out of bed, he’s shuffling through the mail distractedly at the table when Louis comes into the kitchen, Snoopy and Cooper on his heels. Hallie squirms out of Harry’s lab. _Traitor,_ he thinks numbly. 

He thinks the same thing about Louis as soon as he says, “Are you looking for divorce papers in there or something?” He opens up a cabinet so casually, starts making tea like he’s talking about the weather. “I can’t decide if you’d get them sent here to make a point, or if you’d go and pick them up at your fancy lawyer’s office to make yourself feel good. Bet he’s pissed that you didn’t make me sign a prenup.”

Harry runs his tongue over his teeth as he tries to figure out to respond to that. To any of that. He doesn’t even know if he should bother at this point. 

His silence makes Louis scoff. “He is, isn’t he?”

“Our family lawyer is a woman, first of all,” Harry says tiredly, shifting to look at Louis. He’s _furious_ , while Harry’s too tried to be. “Second of all, I don’t want a divorce. I haven’t even thought about that. Feels good to know that you have, though. Thanks.”

“Fuck _off_. Don’t tell me how to feel, right? Isn’t that your favorite excuse?”

Harry ignores him. “And third of all, I never considered making you sign a prenup and you know that. I would never hate you enough to want to stop taking care of you.”

“That’s what alimony is for. And child support.”

And that’s when the panic kicks in. This isn’t just a disagreement that he can roll his eyes through. This isn’t just a rough patch. There is no sure way out of this, and it sinks in for the first time. Louis has given _thought_ to this. A lot of thought, it seems.

“If you want a divorce, you’re going to have to be the one to ask for it,” Harry tells him, eyeing him carefully. “I don’t want one. I’ll never want one. I’ve never threatened you with one, either.”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m just reading the room.”

“If you want a divorce,” Harry repeats, standing up with his coffee mug in hand, “you’re going to have to be the one to ask for it.” 

He goes to turn, and Louis says, “Could you really be happy with someone who doesn’t want any more kids?”

So it _was_ a no. 

“I don’t know,” Harry answers honestly. Hallie paws at his calf like she always does, and Harry idly wonders who would take the dogs. 

Jesus Christ. 

“Because I don’t know if I can be happy with someone who has given up,” Louis says. There’s not an ounce of doubt in his voice, and it’s terrifying. “I don’t know if I can handle someone who won’t respect my wishes.”

“ _Handle_ me?” Harry asks, voice low. He turns back to look at him, hurt. “Like I’m a fucking burden now, really?”

Louis lifts his chin, arms crossed over his chest. “I still love you,” he says, and his voice wavers for this first time during this conversation. There’s that doubt, exactly where it shouldn’t be. “But I can tell you that that love is getting pretty fucking heavy, Harry.”

“Then fucking drop it,” Harry snaps as meanly as he possibly can. He shakes his head and leaves the kitchen, heading for the coat rack. Louis follows him to the living room like he just can’t help himself. “The lawyer’s name is Katherine Davis,” Harry says, slipping on his coat. “Ask my mum. I’m sure she’d love to give her your number.”

He slides his shoes on and leaves, letting Cooper come with him only because he’s the only one he can trust not to piss in the car or run off without a leash. 

The last time he left, he felt dumb and guilty. Now, he thinks Louis deserves it. Someone else can get Madison to school for once; he’s been reliable thus far, which should earn him some slack. 

Threatening Harry with a divorce over a shitty point in their relationship is absurd. Harry would _never_ do that. _Ever_. If he ever got to a point where he even thought about wanting a divorce, he’d feel guilty and awful and he wouldn’t want Louis to hold any of the blame. Yes, Harry wants kids. More than anything. And no, he doesn’t expect for Louis to magically change his mind, not after he’s made it clear that he won’t. But surely there’s a different way to go about fixing this. There must be. 

And he fully believes that for about thirty-four minutes. Until the anger and shock wears off. Once he’s level-headed and cuddling with Cooper on the couch, he realizes that no, there isn’t another way to fix this. If Harry wants more kids, it looks like the only way he’ll get that is if he got them with someone else, or by himself. Without Louis, is the point. 

He asks himself, then, what’s more important to him: being a father to more than one kid or being a husband to Louis? What could he live without easier? And his knee-jerk reaction is to choose Louis, but after a few minutes of the thought rolling around his head. . . He doesn’t quite know anymore. 

Louis is the love of his life. There isn’t a shadow of doubt that Harry couldn’t love anyone more than he does Louis. But being a father is also incredibly important to Harry. He feels fulfilled as a father to Madison, yes, but he’s been dreaming of having a big family long before he met Louis. 

His heart says Louis, of course Louis. His gut is saying he’d regret that choice until the day he died. And his head, well -- he’s pretty sure he hasn’t had a rational thought since the night Jack died. It doesn’t get an input in this. 

Louis calls him twenty minutes later, most likely on his way to work. Harry doesn’t know because he doesn’t answer. The voicemail Louis leaves him indicates that he didn’t expect him to. 

Louis starts with a sigh. “I’m mad at you. I’m really fucking mad at you. And if it was any other person in the world I was arguing with, I wouldn’t have regretted what I said about the stupid divorce papers. I’d think it was justified and honestly maybe a little realistic. But I know,” he lets out a ragged breath, like he still isn’t fully believing his words just yet. “I know that’s, like, your worst fear, and I shouldn’t have thrown it in your face like that. I don’t want a divorce; of course I don’t want a divorce. So, just. . . I don’t fucking know. Do what you want, I guess. I’m still pissed at you. I thought we had talked about you not leaving in the middle of a fight, but whatever. I didn’t call to talk to a voice machine, either. Just -- I’m still pissed at you, and I don’t regret anything else except that one thing.” 

He scoffs quietly before ending the message, and Harry sets his phone on the ground again without replying. There’s nothing to say -- especially if Louis wasn’t being serious about thinking of divorce. That fear being put to rest leaves him complacent with the rest, which is so wrong of him, so ugly, but he doesn’t care enough to do anything other than curl up closer to Cooper and close his eyes. 

-

He wakes at three o’clock with shaky hands and labored breaths. It never gets easier, dreaming about Jack. Even the good dreams are starting to feel less desirable, because his voice is fading, his laugh, his touch. . . It’s fading, and the dreams are a reminder of that. 

Cooper is still sound asleep next to him, so Harry lays back down and grabs his phone off the floor. 

Two missed calls and six texts from his mum. He plans on ignoring them until he sees the word _Chelsea_ in one of her texts. So she knows where he’s been going during the day. It wasn’t necessarily a secret, just. This has become a safe space for him, and he doesn’t want her ruining that. 

_I get a notification every time the motion-detector goes off you know,_ the second text says. And the third, _You need to stop running away love._

Harry responds with, _Louis knows I came here. That’s not running away._

It’s _technically_ true -- the last time Harry did this, Louis knew where he was -- but he’s certain that Louis doesn’t know he’s been coming here every day while Madison’s at school. Well, he _was_ certain. Now he knows that Anne knows, so she might’ve told Louis, which -- whatever. He’s not running away, so it doesn’t matter. 

He doesn’t move until an hour later, when Cooper gets off the couch and leaves the living room, undoubtedly searching for the back door. Harry follows after him to let him outside, and while he uses the bathroom, Harry tries and fails to figure out what the hell he’s doing anymore. 

“Let’s go home, buddy,” Harry tells Cooper with a sigh, letting him back inside. Because if he doesn’t know, he still _knows_. Going home is the only option here. He locks both the front and back door on his way out, and Cooper hops into the car eagerly. He must miss Madison and Anne, and the puppies and Madison must miss Harry. 

When he pulls into the drive, Louis’ car is already there, which. . . it’s not unheard of, Louis coming home a little bit earlier. It is irritating, though. Only today; he’s always happy when Louis gets home earlier, even when he’s mad at him. It’s just further proof that this -- fight between them is different from their usual bickering. 

“You didn’t take me to school today,” is the first thing Harry hears when he comes inside. He pauses, eyes finding Madison curled up in Louis’ lap on the arm chair, a blanket over them. They’re watching some old Disney movie Harry can’t remember the name of. 

Harry frowns. “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. Something came up. But tomorrow, right?”

“You promised that you’d take me every day.”

“Baby bee,” Harry says, his frown deepening. He walks over to her -- which means to Louis as well -- and gently touches her braid. She grabs onto his wrist, her fingers curled over the bee tattoo, but she still looks angry. Not even pouty -- she’s mad at him. “I’m sorry. Really. How about I help you with your homework tonight, yeah?”

“ _Grandma_ always helps me.”

“Love,” Louis says quietly, kissing the side of her head. “Lighten up, yeah? He didn’t mean to break his promise.”

Harry very intentionally doesn’t look at him, scared that Louis’ face will confirm that his words had a double meaning. “I didn’t,” he tells her. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, though. Really.” He swipes his thumb over her cheek, and she scrunches her face like she’s trying not to smile. Relieved, he reaches up to do the same to her other cheek with his left hand, and, when he’s sure she’s about to smile, he squishes her cheeks together in a way that Jack absolutely _hated_ as a toddler. 

What an odd thing to think. _As a toddler._ Jack never got to be more than that. With Madison growing up on him, he sometimes forgets that Jack isn’t doing the same. 

It makes Madison giggle and squirm out of his hands. When Harry risks a quick glance at Louis, he has a small smile on his face, too. 

-

The tension between Harry and Louis gradually builds all throughout February. The stares grow colder, the silence louder, the space in bed feels larger, and, above all, the love feels dimmer. 

Out of the entire month, the only decent day between them is Harry’s birthday. A decent day involves an _I love you_ from Louis for the first time in a shockingly long time, Louis coming home with a birthday cake, and Harry whispering an apology to him after Louis hands him his present. A delicate gold chain now hangs around both of their necks, a bee on one side of the pendant, a polar bear on the other, somehow identical to the ones on Harry’s body. It feels like the only thing they have in common these days, and it stings along with the fact that Louis still put time and thought into a gift despite their current situation. 

There are days that Harry wakes up aching to touch Louis and he thinks he should just drop it. Should just get down on his knees and take Louis’ hands and swear that he can be okay with never adopting another kid again. The only thing that stops him on those days is the fear that all of this has become deeper than that by now, because deep down, he knows it has. It’s not that simple anymore. 

The problem is -- the biggest problem, he should say -- is that Madison is starting to notice it. It would be hard not to. Harry remembers feeling the divide between his parents start to grow years before they actually got divorced. And he knows how crappy that feels, so he tries to fix it. He tries to play it up for her the best he can, which involves contributing to dinner conversations again and dropping the attitude when there’s no reason to have one and saying things like _Dad will be home soon, baby_ , and _me and Dad decided we’re having peach cobbler for dessert_ \-- anything that gets Madison relating the two of them together again, if only in passing thought. Louis does the same thing; there’s a noticeable attitude-change in both of them around her, but it’s not enough. Madison isn’t stupid.

One day after school, as Madison and Harry walk out of the building hand-in-hand, she looks at him with round, teary eyes and asks, “Do you and Daddy not like each other anymore?”

He only lets himself get knocked back by shocked for a second. “Of course we do,” he says quickly and as soothingly as he can manage. “Me and Dad love each other like mad. That’s never going to change, Mads.”

“Sara and Nicole weren’t talking to each other today and it was ruining our game so I asked why, and Sara said it was ‘cause she didn’t like Nicole anymore. It’s like you and Daddy.”

“Sara and Nicole are six and have only known each other for six or seven months. I’ve known your dad for forever, baby. _Forever_. And forever is a long, long time, remember?”

“Yeah,” she says, still quiet. 

“When you love someone forever, it doesn’t just go away like that,” he tells her. He has no idea if what he’s saying is actually happening; however, he can hope it is. “Like it did with Sara and Nicole. Me and Dad still like each other, and we’ll always like each other. I promise.”

They’re at the car now, and Madison climbs into her car seat when Harry opens the door for her. She doesn’t look any happier. At all. She doesn’t believe him, and it makes Harry nervous. 

“Hey,” he says softly, lifting her chin up. “Where is Dad, hmm?”

He’s afraid she won’t understand, but she immediately lifts her hand and reaches to touch his bicep, an inch or two above Louis’ name. “Right here,” she whispers, eyes still so round with worry.

“And where else is he?”

This one takes a few seconds longer, but her hand eventually drifts to his heart. (At least, he knows she means to put it over his heart. She still gets confused with her left and right.)

“Right,” he tells her, nodding. “And do you know who else is right there?”

She looks like she could _cry_ , for fuck’s sake. This feels _horrible_.

“Me and Jack.”

He nods again. “You and Jack, that’s right. And you know I’d never stop loving you, right? That I could’ve ever, ever, ever stop loving you or Jack?”

She nods, and she looks like she means it. At least Harry has that.

“‘Cause you two are locked in there. Right next to Dad. And that’s how you know that I’ll never stop loving your dad, either.”

He envelopes her tiny hand in his and squeezes. One day she won’t be this small and fragile. One day she’ll know better than to think hearts can really lock people in like that. But maybe they can, because Harry wasn’t lying when he said that he’d never stop loving any of them. Not Louis or Jack or Madison; they’ll always, _always_ be there, right in his heart. Locked there. So maybe she won’t grow up to learn that isn’t true, maybe she’ll grow up and realize just how true that actually is. 

-

The next day -- _the very next day_ \-- after Harry promises Madison that he and Louis are okay, that Louis’ locked in his heart, Louis causes a scene in the kitchen with her right in the living room. It’s the first real fight that they have in front of her, the first proper, ugly spat, and it’s over _nothing._

Harry’s sitting at the kitchen table with Hallie in his lap, legs criss-crossed so she can fit on his lap still since she’s growing, as he browses on the internet. He has his laptop pulled up, earbuds in his ears, and he’s scrolling through houses on a website that his sister found her house on. The discomfort he feels in this house keeps growing and growing, and the more time he spends in Chelsea, the more he realizes that moving could be good for all of them. 

He’s _browsing._ For _them._ At houses that Harry wouldn’t even actually _consider._ He got bored at looking at houses that he might actually want and has started to fuck around looking at mansions that only idiots would spend that much money on, and Louis sees the screen that he’s _not even trying to hide_ and just _blows_ _up_ on him. 

“Are you actually considering moving out?” Louis snaps from behind him, voice so loud that it startles Harry and Hallie. Harry turns to look at him, a supportive hand on Hallie’s back, and shakes his eyes, confused. 

“No, I was just looking for -- ”

“For a place to go when you _do_ consider moving out?”

“Lower your voice,” Harry hisses as he glances out into the living room. He can’t see Madison from where she is sitting, but he knows that she can hear them. 

Louis crosses his arms. “So it’s true, then?”

“I’m looking at a house in Scotland that has a fucking built-in pond practically right in front of the front door,” Harry snaps back, motioning to the screen. “I’m just fucking around, Louis. And now _you’ve_ got our daughter even more paranoid than she already was.”

There’s a flicker of _oh shit_ on Louis’ face before he rolls his eyes and crosses the kitchen to open the cabinet above the sink. “Pardon me if I don’t think it’s impossible to believe that my estranged husband is planning on abandoning me for real. And you always liked Scotland, anyway.”

“I was looking at houses for _us_ ,” Harry seethes, completely irate. “ _For_ us. For me and you.”

“In Scotland?”

“Stop being irritating. Not in Scotland, in _London._ Or New York, if you were willing, but I don’t think you’d do that.”

Louis snorts. “Last I checked, we already _have_ a house in London.”

The fight stops there. Or pauses, he should say. Because Anne comes stomping into the kitchen, a fierce look on her face, and points a glare at both of them. 

“You both need to stop,” she seethes, voice low. “Shut your mouths and go comfort your daughter, who looks like she’s about to have a bloody panic attack.”

Harry and Louis both react to that, Harry standing and Louis trying to get back into the living room, but Anne stops them both. 

“You need to figure this out,” she tells them. “Either you get divorced or you stay married. At this point, its whichever is best for your daughter. She’s told _both_ of you that she’s afraid you’ll split, and now you’re doing _this_ to her?”

Harry and Louis shoot each other an irritated look. Louis never told him that Madison said anything to him, too. But Harry never told Louis, either. This is such a mess.

She stands off to the side, then, so Harry and Louis can move past her to get to Madison, who does look incredibly upset. She has Snoopy and Cooper snuggled with her on the couch and an abandoned, half-crocheted sock in her lap. Anne must’ve been trying to teach her how to crochet, and now Snoopy is chewing on the hook because Harry and Louis had a fight over _nothing._ Again.

“Don’t chew on that,” Harry mumbles, grabbing it from Snoopy, as Louis sits down next to Madison. She looks unsure of what to do with herself, mostly. Face pink and fists bundled up in her lap and a wobbling chin. 

“We weren’t fighting, babe,” Louis tells her, and he wraps his arm around her middle, pulling her into his side. She goes easily, snuggling into him and clinging to his arm. It opens up space next to her, so Harry sits there and places a hand on her head. “We were just talking and it got a bit loud. No need to worry, love.”

Lying to her isn’t going to get them anywhere. Harry’s parents denied ever thinking about a separation up until the very day that they sat Harry and Gemma down to tell them that they were going to get divorced. When your parents are your entire world, it’s not difficult to recognize when the foundation is shattering beneath your feet. 

“You were mad,” she says quietly, and it could be aimed at either of them, but Harry’s the one to take it. Even if Harry thinks they’re playing equal parts in this “fight,” he won’t deny that Louis takes hits for him relentlessly.

“There was a misunderstanding,” he tells her. “And we’ve got it figured out now. Nobody’s mad; we were both just confused.”

She turns to him, as does Louis. They both look at him with tired, blue eyes, and he frowns. Their family has been under enough stress from Jack, and now this, it’s -- Harry and Louis should’ve tried harder to prevent themselves from getting here. They should have, for everyone’s sake. Now that they’re here, though, Harry doesn’t know if it’s that easy anymore. 

“Is Daddy still right here?” she asks, and she presses her hand over his heart. He flushes as he grabs her hand, so embarrassed that he almost pushes her hand off. Instead, he slowly moves it to the correct side and squeezes her fingers. He won’t look at Louis. 

“Of course he is,” Harry whispers. “I told you that he’d never leave. He’s,” Harry sighs. He shouldn’t feel embarrassed to say any of this. “He’s my best friend, you know that. Like you and Olive, right?”

She shakes her head. “Maia at school is my best friend.”

He’s never even heard that name before and she’s been friends with Olive for years, but, “Oh, right. Maia. Me and Dad are like you and Maia, then, okay? We’re best friends, and we love each other very much.”

His throat is hot and tight, and he wants more than anything for Louis to grab his hand or kiss his cheek or squeeze his thigh. None of that happens. 

“Forever?” Madison asks, and Harry nods. A few seconds ago, he was just thinking that Louis was wrong to lie, and here he is. Lying. Because he can’t tell her that for certain, not anymore. 

“Forever, Maddie.”

“But that’s a long, long time.”

“I know it is,” he says, and he tries to give her a smile. 

“Do you promise?”

Louis shifts from behind her, and Harry is terrified to even look at him, so his eyes don’t leave Madison’s. “We promise, love,” he tells her, voice soft and, if Harry didn’t know better, it’d sound honest. 

“Come on, then,” Louis says, tone completely different. He reaches for the sock and hands it to her, her fingers letting go of Harry. “Show us how it’s done, kiddo.”

She shakes her head with a small smile. “I still don’t know how. Grandma says I just need to practice.”

Anne comes out of the kitchen, then, like she was waiting for them to be done. The smile she gives to Madison as she says, “Practice makes perfect, right?” is entirely different from the cold glare she shoots at both of them when Madison has her head down. 

She’s disappointed. She has every right to be. The only things Harry has ever been to this world are a father and a husband, and here he is, messing them both up simultaneously. There’s no excuse for that. At all. 

That night, as Harry carefully gets into bed two hours after Louis said goodnight, he looks at Louis in wonder. It’s. . Harry knew that this was a possibility, them falling apart like this after Jack’s death. Parents go through that all the time. Harry wanted it to be different for them, and for a while, he thought it would be. He’s not so sure now, and that’s a problem. He failed the one person who needed him the most. Because Harry was wrong: this entire time, he _was_ needed. He was needed by Louis, and Harry ignored it. 

Louis needed him to be okay. He needed Harry to not be something else that he had to stress over. He needed Harry to fucking _try,_ because Louis was right when he said that Harry has given up. He needed Harry to need him. 

_But I want kids,_ he thinks desperately, not willing to accept that he nearly ruined them -- and still could -- over nothing. And it’s not _nothing_ , but it’s not -- it’s not _everything_ , either. If it’s what happens, then he will forever be hurt and upset that they never had more kids, but at least he’d still have a _family. His_ family. 

Harry startles when Louis opens his eyes. He looks away, pretends like it was Cooper who he was staring at.

“You know I fucking hate that,” Louis mumbles before he turns to face away from Harry. His shift causes all the dogs to shift as they get comfortable again, which ends with Hallie under Harry’s legs and Cooper between them. Snoopy must be under the blankets somewhere, unless he’s with Anne or Madison. 

“Sorry,” Harry whispers. He tries to get comfortable around Hallie and Cooper, and his toes nudge against another dog, so Snoopy is with them. He moves his foot and ends up touching Louis’, and he pulls back immediately, flustered. 

When Harry’s finally settled, he closes his eyes and tries to avoid any more thinking. There’s nothing he can do about it tonight, he tells himself, as if he’s tried to do anything about it for months now. It’s been awful between them for over two _months_ , and Harry just let that happen. And what is really shit is that Harry can’t even know for sure if he’ll feel the same way as he does right now in the morning. Tomorrow, he might wake up and realize that fixing this will be harder than telling himself that he was just tired last night and wasn’t thinking properly. 

Harry startles again when Louis abruptly says, voice cold, “I’m calling into work tomorrow so we can fucking talk about this. Tomorrow we’re going to decide, _together,_ if we’re going to stay together and work on this or just fucking call it quits. And if you shut me out tomorrow, then I’ll make that decision for us.”

The panic that kicks up in Harry’s chest is immeasurable, and it leaves him unable to talk, to respond. He’s pretty sure Louis didn’t need him to, anyway. 

-

It turns out, Louis was serious about them having a Talk in the morning. For some reason, Harry thought he’d change his mind at the last minute and go into work. But when Harry’s alarm goes off to get him up to take Madison to school, Louis’ still in bed. He’s not asleep, but he’s in his pajamas as he plays on his phone with Snoopy asleep on his stomach. 

Harry resents his phone, then. If it wouldn’t have alerted Louis to his wakefulness, then Harry would have pretended like he was still asleep until Louis left the room. Now he has to deal with this awkwardness that he’s only used to facing on the weekends. 

Silently, he pulls himself out of bed and goes to the bathroom. He pees, brushes his teeth, and when he comes out, Louis’ already gone. So, clearly, he didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness, either.

Harry sighs, grabs his coat, and heads downstairs. There’s only been a handful of days where he hasn’t taken her to and from school in his pajamas. 

The hour he has until he has to take Madison to school is spent sitting in the living room alone. Louis is helping Madison get ready, because Anne is out with Gemma, apparently. Louis must’ve asked her to leave for a little while. So they can scream at each other in peace, because there’s no way this will go down quietly. The existence of their marriage depends on this conversation, according to Louis -- and both of them have a lot to say about that. Harry absolutely does not want them to separate, but he won’t just blindly agree to work on things with Louis. There are some things that he wants made clear.

When Madison is ready, Harry’s heart stutters painfully in his chest. That means they have to go, which means when Harry comes back, Louis will be here waiting for him. That’s terrifying. This could very well be the last half hour of his life where he’s in a relationship with Louis, because Harry’s got himself convinced that this conversation is going to go south, and fast. 

The drive to the school is far too quick. In a blink, Madison has disappeared into her classroom. And then Harry is left by himself, and he walks very, very slowly to the car, trying to prolong this as long as possible. When he sits down, he fully considers just not coming back home, just going to his mum’s for a few hours like he always does to evade Louis, but Louis made it clear that a decision was going to be made with or without Harry’s input. 

This is all so fucking stupid. _They’re_ stupid. They both still clearly fucking in love with each other, and they’ve put themselves in a situation where that might not be enough. This is his worst bloody nightmare. And Madison’s. And Jack’s, too, if he was here to see what a mess they’ve made of everything. 

It all goes back to Jack. 

And that’s not fair. Jack was innocent and kind and graceful -- all the things that Harry and Louis have forgotten how to be to each other. There’s no way that his mess was in any way tied to Jack, because that’s just not fair. That’s a lame excuse, he thinks, but at the same time, this wouldn’t have happened otherwise. They’ve been together for over ten years, and it’s never been like this before. It’s never been even near how _close_ they are to an end. But to say that losing Jack caused this would be to say that Harry and Louis didn’t expect things to get hard, and they both _did_. They anticipated the difficulties it’d bring, the weight, and they _let this happen anyway_. Harry sat in the hospital and in his car and in their room time and time again, telling himself that he couldn’t let this happen. He tried so hard to avoid this, too. At first. And then he just stopped trying. In everything, but especially in their relationship. He gave into the pain and spread it like wildfire, and now he’s sitting in its ashes pretending like it wasn't him who held the match. 

Louis’ not blameless in this, Harry knows that. He knows that it’s unfair to blame himself entirely. Yet, he still can’t help but feel like he’s the one who was testing them the most. Louis made little jabs here and there, sure, but Harry. . . Harry was the one with the cannon-fire. 

His phone lights up in his lap, and he feels hot dread, thinking that it’s Louis saying he took too long. It’s not; it’s a text from Gemma that reads, _Surely mum is being dramatic when she says you’ve been a shit husband??? Call me when you can_. He doesn’t focus on the message, though, too busy staring at the picture of Madison and Jack cuddled up together with that leaf. He hasn’t changed his lockscreen since Jack died. 

Madison has grown since then, obviously. She’s grown a lot. But looking at it now, at how tiny they both were -- it hurts. He pulls on his necklace subconsciously as he picks his phone up and opens the photo app. He swipes through a few pictures, each of them sinking in like a vice around his heart, until he finds a picture of all four of them and Cooper. 

The picture was taken by his mum at Louis’ mum’s house in Doncaster. It’s the city where Louis grew up before his family moved to London. The kids are only three, and it was the quietest car ride they ever had because Jack was too distracted by Cooper to whine. It was their first proper outing as a family after Jack’s first surgery, and he’s relieved that Jack doesn’t show that. He’s beaming up at the camera, Harry’s hands tight on his shoulders. Louis is crouched down in between the kids, his arm around Madison’s waist and his hand gripping onto Harry’s leg for balance. Cooper, loyal as ever, is right in front of Jack with Jack’s tiny little hands pressed against his cheeks. 

Aside from Jack’s death, the hardest time for their family was after that first surgery. Everything was so new and terrifying and uncertain, Jack felt terrible, Louis and Harry weren’t sleeping through the nights, Madison was fussy near-constantly. And they still got through it with far more grace than they have shown in the last year and a half. Harry and Louis wear closer than ever during that time, even though they were spending day after day with each other, stressed and exhausted and worried. They were _solid_. And losing a kid is a lot more difficult than nursing a sick kid back to health, but _fuck_. It’s a wonder how they’ve managed to do any of that so bravely and with so much strength when neither of them are acting very brave or strong now. 

Harry takes a deep breath, sets that picture as his new lockscreen, puts his phone down, and starts the car. 

-

Louis’ sitting in the dining room when Harry gets back home. He already feels so emotionally drained, so he’s not sure how he’s going to do this. With shaky legs, Harry bends down to give each dog a pet before finding Louis. 

At least when all is said and done, he can say that he didn’t run away. 

“Hi,” he says awkwardly, and he sits down across from Louis at the table. This feels all too formal. He wishes they were just sitting on the couch in the living room or at the kitchen table or something.

Louis doesn’t look up from the table for at least a minute or two. It makes Harry’s skin crawl, and the only thing that’s making him feel better is Cooper laying on the ground between them. 

Eventually, Louis sighs and asks, “Do you see a point in staying in this relationship?”

The question is absurd. It’s -- it’s just fucking annoying, is what it is. For Harry, the problem was never about not wanting to be with Louis. Divorce has rarely snuck into his thoughts, so he doesn’t fucking appreciate that it’s clearly running rampant in Louis’ head. 

One sentence into this, and Harry’s already angry. 

“Do _you?_ ” he asks, and Louis lifts his head to roll his eyes at him. 

“We’re not doing this with you being so goddamn defensive. It’s just _me,_ Harry. It’s _me_. Your best friend and all that, or whatever the fuck you told Maddie yesterday.”

Maybe that’s fair. Louis is the person who’s seen him at his most vulnerable, and that didn’t used to feel like a threat. 

“Okay,” Harry says, forcing himself to speak slowly and calmly. “I just feel like you’re the only one here who keeps talking about divorce.”

“Isn’t that what couples do after months of not getting along?”

Harry resists the urge to snap. “I don’t want a divorce, Louis. I never have, and I never will.”

Louis’ eyes turn from hard to soft. He stares at Harry before his eyes drop to the table again, and Harry tries to brace himself for what Louis is clearly working himself up to say. 

“Are you just too scared to be alone, or do you actually want to still be with me? And don’t answer right away, because I feel like you might not even know the answer to that.”

Harry denies Louis’ request and answers immediately with, “I want to be with you. It’s not about me being scared of anything, it’s about me wanting to stay with the person I’ve been with for over ten years, who I still love very much despite him being an asshole sometimes.”

“ _I’m_ the asshole? Really?”

“Not _the_ asshole, _an_ asshole, yes. We both are.”

“You’re stupid,” Louis tells him, but there’s no anger behind it. He shakes his head before crossing his arms. “How do you think I’m being an asshole, then?”

Harry doesn’t have to think before he answers that, either. 

“You went back to work when I asked you not to.”

Immediately, Louis throws his hands up and scoffs. He looks _pissed_. He looks more than pissed, he looks fucking _murderous_ at this point. “I am not arguing over this with you for the hundredth fucking time, Harry. I’m not doing it.”

Harry sits back in the chair. “And you don’t like it when my feelings aren’t convenient for you.”

“Not _convenient_ for me? You know what’s not convenient for me? My husband telling me I can’t go back to work, _that’s_ pretty inconvenient.”

“You didn’t have to go so soon.”

“Working is the only thing that makes me feel okay with living in a house like this and using money like yours,” Louis snaps. His face has gone red and his hands are balled into fists, and if Harry didn’t know better, he’d call all this behavior _defensive._ “I went back to work because that’s what I needed to do. I’m sorry if you didn’t like that, but that was a year ago and I don’t know what that has to do with anything now.”

“You called May without me,” Harry says, still calm. It’s passive aggressive, but it doesn’t matter. “You went to visit Jack without telling me. And you went back to work the second time, when I still really needed you. Those all happened a while ago, sure, but each of those showed me that we weren’t in this together. That I was on my own in figuring this out.”

“So all this is because I haven’t made you feel supported enough?”

He’s genuinely asking, so Harry gives him a genuine answer back. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I think. . . I think I’ve just been struggling for a long time and maybe you not being as close as I wanted you to be was part of that.”

Louis frowns. “You were constantly going on and on about how nobody needed you anymore when _I_ needed you. That didn’t make _me_ feel supported.”

“ _You_ are much more closed off than I am,” Harry argues. “You have not once shown me that you needed my help. The only time that I looked at you and thought you really needed me was when you brought the puppies home, and I tried being there for you. From the jump, I thought you were handling everything better than I was and it made me feel crazy.”

It becomes clear how gradual this was. Their relationship didn’t just suddenly collapse because of a disagreement on children; they’ve been shaking the foundation for a while. Harry has felt insecure for ages, and it’s not a surprise that it has finally festered into something worse. 

Louis closes his eyes briefly before he shrugs. “Maybe I’m not as outwardly emotional as you are, but I’ve obviously been struggling, too. We’re both grieving the same thing.” 

There’s a small silence before Louis says, “I thought we were just to argue about kids again. I didn’t realize there was more to it.”

“You saying you didn’t want any more kids with me was just another indicator that we weren’t on the same page,” Harry tells him. “And it’s -- it’s a lot of things, but that’s probably the worst bit. I don’t know who I am if I won’t ever get to have a big family.”

“That’s the _problem_ , Harry,” Louis nearly shouts. “You are Harry above anything else. You being a father and a husband should not be all that you think you are. I don’t know if you need, like, a job or a hobby or to join a club or something, but you need to do _something_. Something else for yourself, because you aren’t just a father.”

Harry shakes his head. “That’s all I want to be.”

“Then we’ll go through this all over again when Madison leaves the house,” he says, frustrated. “You have to learn how to not be needed. You have to learn how to just _be_.”

That’s not particularly fair. Louis can’t just tell him who he is or isn’t. It’s never been a secret that Harry wanted to be a father to a large family, with _Louis,_ so he doesn’t know where this is coming from, or what changed. 

“I don’t know if I’m that type of person.”

“And I don’t know if I want more kids with someone like that.”

The pain from that is already excruciating, so when Harry looks up and sees how guilty Louis looks for saying that, it doubles. He doesn’t think it can get any worse until Louis opens his mouth again. 

“I want our kids to have someone to look up to that has goals and passions and -- and dedication and hard work. I’m not saying you’re a bad father, because you absolutely aren’t, but I don’t think it’s a good example to show Madison that all you ever have to look forward to is being is one thing. To only being good at one thing.”

“Where the hell was all this when we both agreed that I’d be a stay-at-home dad?” Harry snaps, standing up. “I’m not a good example, are you _kidding_ me?”

“You had friends back then,” Louis argues. “You went to your sister’s and you went shopping and you -- ”

“And then our son got diagnosed with _brain_ cancer! All of that stopped because it needed to!”

“Our son isn’t _here_ anymore,” Louis shouts back. “And you haven’t gone back to any of that. You don’t even want to.”

“So, what, you’ve just been disappointed in my for the last four fucking years and didn’t say anything?”

“Of course not,” Louis says calmly, raising his hand. “I think you are a wonderful person who loves stronger than anyone else I’ve ever met. I am more than grateful that you and Anne kept Jack company all day. I just think you have some shit to sort out before we even think about adopting more kids.”

Harry frowns. “But you said you didn’t want any more kids.”

“I said that it wasn’t a no. And it won’t be a yes until I feel like you are in the right mindset to handle more children.”

That forces Harry to take a step back as shock shoots through his system. That’s -- _what?_ Louis not wanting kids is because of Harry? That can’t be what he meant, but the look on Louis’ face tells him that’s exactly what he meant. 

Panicked and angry, Harry decides to just leave. Louis can pick up Madison from school, right after he decides the fate of their marriage for them; Harry doesn’t fucking _care_. That’s unacceptable, Louis telling Harry that he’s not in the right mindset to have more kids. What does that even mean? Harry’s a good fucking father, and Louis just said so himself. Louis doesn’t want kids and he’s making it Harry’s fault, making him feel inadequate and broken and like a failure. 

Harry’s yanking open the front door when Louis comes after him and says, “If you leave right now, I swear to God, we’re done.”

Part of Harry wants to find out if he really means it. The other part hesitates, scared, long enough for Louis to ask, “What do you think you gain in running away?”

“I’m sick of this house,” Harry snaps, turning back to him. “I’m sick of feeling suffocated here. I want to move, Louis, but I guess you just decided that we can’t do that, either. It’s all up to you, huh?”

“We bought this house with the intent of raising our children here. That was the plan.”

“So was having a big family,” Harry shoots back. “But I guess plans can only change when they benefit you, right?”

Louis rolls his eyes, throws his hands up. “You want to move? Really? Fine, then let’s fucking do it. Let’s pack up all our shit, let’s put Jack’s room into _boxes_ , let’s abandon the one place he ever knew. Let’s just fucking do that.”

Harry stares at him, breathless. He didn’t think about that. About having to abandon the one place Jack called home. But he’s _everywhere_ here, and it _hurts._ It’s also the one thing that helps sometimes. 

Louis must recognize his hesitance, and he takes advantage of it. “The house isn’t the problem, Harry,” he says, and it’s spoken softer than the rest of this entire conversation has gone. “Neither am I. Neither is the idea of not having more kids. It’s not, Harry. The problem is you not dealing with crap that needs to be dealt with.”

“So it’s my fault?” Harry asks. There’s no heat behind it, not when his brain is spiraling at the possibility that maybe Louis is right. He could be. 

“No,” Louis says, just as gentle as before. “No, it’s nobody’s fault. You’re hurting, and that’s okay. Maybe -- I mean, yeah, I think we both played a part in letting it get this far, but I’ve run out of things to do that I think can help you.”

Harry doesn’t know what to do or say or think. He doesn’t know how much of what Louis’ saying is true. This is all such a mess. He leans against the front door, but he doesn’t say a word.

“I didn’t mean to make it seem like I didn’t want to have kids with you,” Louis continues. “I do want more kids with you. But with _you,_ not this -- this sad, miserable person. Which sounds harsh, I know it does, but you’re -- you’re not you anymore. And I wasn’t going to agree to have more kids, because I knew you’d just use that as a flotation device and ignore what is really the problem, and then we’d go through this all over again.”

Still, Harry has nothing to say. He doesn’t know what to think. All of this is coming at him too fast; one conversation to fix the last two months -- or possibly the last year and a half -- isn’t going to work. This was too overwhelming. 

“I am not saying I haven’t done anything wrong,” Louis says. Harry has no idea how he’s managing to keep his thoughts in order eloquently enough to speak. “Of course I have. Hell, I’ll even admit that me going back to work after you asked me to probably wasn’t the smoothest way that could have gone. But I really am trying here, and I need you to do the same.”

Louis must run out of things to say, because he stops there. And then they’re just staring at each other across the room. It’s silent and uncomfortable, but it doesn’t feel as tense anymore. They’ve said everything that they wanted to say. Everything has been laid out in the open. 

After a few minutes of silence, Louis sighs. “I’ll leave you alone, if you want. I’ll be in our room, okay? But don’t leave. I mean it, Harry. Do not leave.” He turns to leave, and only a second later, he pauses. With his back turned to Harry, he says, “I do love you, you know.”

Harry’s lost. He has no idea what to do or what he wants. Nothing seems real, and everything feels impossible to fix. Despite all of that, he doesn’t hesitate to say, “I love you, too, Louis.”

It’s a step in the right direction. 

-

For a half hour, Harry sits in front of the door, Hallie and Cooper by his side. Snoopy must be with Louis. Or maybe she’s somewhere else chewing on something she shouldn’t be. Both are equally as likely. For a half hour, Harry sits there, trying to think. About everything. About the fight and the past year and Jack and Anne and Madison and the past ten years. Through a lot of sluggish thinking, the only thing he becomes certain about is not wanting to move. Louis’ right; he doesn’t want to abandon Jack’s home. That was just a last-ditch effort to find a new source of happiness or motivation or distraction. 

Everything else -- the kid talk, Louis accusing Harry of not being the same person anymore, the possibility that he’s the cause of all this -- is impossible to unscramble right now, so he gives up trying to. 

After a half hour, he pulls himself off of the floor and onto his numb, sore legs. He doesn’t want to talk to Louis right now, but he does want to at the very least be around him. There’s no harm in going upstairs to lay beside him in bed; chances are, they’ll be able to do that without arguing about something. 

As soon as Harry steps on the first stair, Hallie goes running up the stairs and Cooper chases after him, both of them blowing his secrecy. He sighs as he follows after them to the room. 

“Oi, Snoopy, don’t bite your sister,” is the first thing Harry hears when he reaches their door. He hesitates, only for a moment, before stepping into the doorway and making his way to the bed. This doesn’t have to be awkward. It shouldn’t be. 

Quietly, Harry gets into bed, laying flat on his back, and pulls the blanket over him. Snoopy pounces at him -- she’s such a little _shit,_ honestly -- and he lets out a small huff as he starts to pet her. 

This shouldn’t be awkward, but it is. 

“I really am sorry,” Louis says after about a minute. “For everything. For making you feel worse than you already do. For any part I’ve played in this, I’m genuinely sorry. And to answer your question, no, I absolutely do not want a divorce, either.”

Again, there are so many words at once. Harry tries to pick out what’s most important. 

“I’m sorry, too,” he says truthfully. “And good.”

It’s not enough. It’ll take time for anything to be enough. But for now, this is all they can do. 

-

Every fight they had before would slowly fix itself. Sure, it’d take some work on both their ends, but barely any compared to how much work it takes to fix the damage between them now. Now, they have to relearn how to work together, how to be close, how not to blame each other for absolutely everything. Harry realizes over and over again just how bad it has been between them, and Louis realizes slowly that maybe this wasn’t as much on Harry as he initially thought. Which -- yeah, thanks. Harry doesn’t agree that this was all his fault. 

The only thing that makes it seem worth it is that Madison immediately picks up on the fact that they’re doing better. She’s crabby in the car when Harry picks her up that day, but when he takes her home, it only takes her a handful of minutes to sense that Harry and Louis aren’t silently fighting or doing everything in their power to avoid each other. It makes her relax, which in turn makes Anne relax, and really, Harry and Louis now only have to worry about each other. 

The fear of divorce is no longer a force weighing them down, so they’re a little less motivated to put in the work to fix this. And when they do actively try to work on it, the words exchanged are a bit harsher and more honest. Every time Harry says something that lands harshly, he thinks, _well, he wanted me to be honest and he swore he didn’t want a divorce, so_ , just before he apologizes and clarifies what he meant.

Day to day, it’s relatively the same. Harry pretends to be asleep while Louis gets ready for work, and once he leaves after pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead -- and mumbling _I know you’re awake, dickhead_ on days that he’s irritated -- Harry gets out of bed to let the dogs out. In the first week, he continues to spend the time that Madison is at school at his mum’s house, but after Louis explains to him that he doesn’t like it, Harry starts just going back home. He hates it. They fought about it, because it was the one place that got Harry out of the house. Louis just kept telling him that it wouldn’t have to be like that if he would just go places, but Harry decided to pick his battles carefully and agreed to stay home. 

Most days, he lays in bed and waits, but on the days that he knows he can handle it, he plays with the dogs. Whatever he gets up to, avoiding his mum is on the agenda as well. He has to fix things with her, too, but -- after Louis, okay? He doesn’t have the energy for both of them blaming him for things he doesn’t think he deserves blame for. 

Once Madison gets home, he forces himself to interact with her. Which sounds awful, but he doesn’t beat himself up for it. Either they paint or play with the dogs or watch TV; anything, really, so long as it’s together. Harry didn’t realize how unhappy Madison was until she’s back to being her normal, happy self. She must’ve felt neglected by him, which is about the worst thing Harry has ever thought. He brushed it off as him being self-deprecating until Louis sat down with him one day and said, _Huh, Madison seems to be a lot happier lately, hasn’t she?_

The only time that Harry and Louis make for each other is before bed. They go upstairs as soon as Madison is asleep, and it depends on what they do from there. Argue, mostly. But good arguing. Healthy bickering, if there’s such a thing. It leaves them both feeling better, not worse, and that’s what matters. If they don’t argue, they just talk about normal things, like Louis’ work or the dogs or Louis’ family, because he makes it a point to talk to them more often now that Harry has brought up that he doesn’t like that he doesn’t. It’s only been two weeks since that big fight, and they’ve had sex twice already, which is good for them -- and that’s _stupid,_ because before they had kids, they were going at it every day. Twice in two weeks is better than nothing, though, so he’ll take it regardless of their old habits that he longs for. 

About half the time, the night ends in them cuddling. Maybe a little less than half, but Harry tries not to let it bother him. He can never fall asleep right away and it keeps Louis awake, and even if that wasn’t the case, them not wanting to cuddle isn’t the end of the world. They’ve been fighting for weeks, intentionally hurting each other during the most vulnerable months of their lives; there’s bound to be some urge to protect themselves, or to make it clear that not everything has been forgiven yet. On either side. 

At the start of the third week of them officially Working on Things, they’re standing side by side in the mirror, brushing their teeth together. Cooper and Hallie are already curled up in bed, but Snoopy is chewing on the bottom of Harry’s pants and he doesn’t have it in him to care. It’s better than his toes, he thinks.

It irritates Louis. “Snoop, babe,” he mumbles around the toothbrush. “Stop it.” He uses his foot to gently push at Snoopy, and she’s been reprimanded for it enough to know that means to knock it off. She stops and sits for a few seconds before plopping on to the floor and rolling onto her back, tummy up. Her energy levels are unmatched. Even Jack would’ve had a hard time keeping up with her. 

Harry’s eyes drop to the necklace around his throat in the mirror. Sometimes he’s comforted by the fact that he’s still here, still a part of him, inked into his flesh and traced into silver. Other times, like now, his stomach burns at the lie. _Still here?_ Yeah, right. He doesn’t know when he let himself be comforted by lies, or how that became his last resort. 

So, it’s about the worst moment for Louis to say, “You can’t just let her do that because you don’t feel like dealing with it.”

It’s blunt. Objectively hostile for no reason. They’ve talked about this -- last Friday, Harry’s pretty sure -- and Louis reluctantly agreed that sometimes he goes in a little too hard on Harry from the start. And they also talked about how Harry apparently sees everything as an attack, but when Louis’ tone is like that, he’s not sure how else he’s supposed to see it. 

But he promised Louis he’d do his best to keep his composure and not sweat the small stuff, and his way of doing that is to quickly spit in the sink, wash out his mouth, and slip behind Louis to the bedroom without a word. Not to be petty, but to avoid a pointless fight with the person he’s trying really fucking hard not to fight with. 

From day one, Harry didn’t want to be that type of person to lose their marriage due to the loss of a child. He got too close to falling into that once, and he won’t do it again. 

“I didn’t mean to piss you off,” Louis says in the doorway connecting the bathroom and the bedroom. He leans against it with Snoopy in his arms, and she looks far too innocent. Harry doesn’t look up from where he’s fluffing his pillows. 

“It’s fine. You didn’t.”

“I clearly did.”

“Snoopy bites,” Harry says flatly. The pillows are fluffed enough, so he lays down and pulls the blanket over his shoulder. Or tries to. Cooper’s too heavy to get it out from under him -- and to think Snoopy and Hallie will get, like, twice his size. “That’s neither of our faults. And if I yelled at her every time she did it, I’d never stop scolding her.”

“But she’ll never learn that way, H.” He flicks the light off and climbs into bed, too, and Harry’s just glad he got to claim his spot first. Maybe it’d be easier if they just had a no-dog-on-the-bed rule, but he doesn’t have the heart. 

“She hasn’t bitten our fingers in ages, and that’s all I really care about.”

“You can’t sleep with Jack’s toy because you don’t trust her.”

“I don’t trust either of them,” Harry snaps, exasperated. “Hallie would chew it up just as fast as Snoopy would. And Snoopy’s teething problem has nothing to do with Jack, so don’t even bring him up right now.”

Louis sighs, and Harry echoes it. 

“I feel like we still suck at talking to each other,” Louis says quietly. “It feels so disjointed and -- ”

“Love,” Harry interrupts sternly, turning slightly to face him. Louis stares down at him, looking sad. “I love you. I’m not fighting with you. I don’t much feel like fighting with you, either. Let’s just drop it and go to bed, okay, because we’re just going to fight if we keep talking.”

“But isn’t that a little fucked?” Louis asks with a small frown. 

“No, it’s us knowing our limits.”

Louis clearly doesn’t agree, so Harry rolls over completely to look at him. Somehow he manages to do it without accidentally kicking any of the dogs. “Things aren’t normal between us right now, so it makes sense that things feel different. Us forcing ourselves to be perfect isn’t going to work.”

Louis is quiet for a few seconds, contemplating, before he says, “I feel like you hate me.”

“Oh, God,” Harry mumbles. He can’t get out of this smoothly, then. Just going to sleep isn’t an option. With a loud huff, he sits up and turns on the lamp. Light floods the room, and it shows just how sad Louis looks. “I don’t hate you. I love you a lot, and I always have. Us bitching at each other more than normal doesn’t change that.”

“But you will,” Louis says weakly. “Twenty years from now, if we don’t have any more kids, you’ll -- ”

“You said we could have more kids if we both get to a place where we’re good,” Harry interrupts, confused. “I mean, that’s what you said, isn’t it?”

Louis sighs. “Yeah.”

“Then please don’t plan on us not having more kids. If that’s. . . if that’s what happens, then that’s what happens, but don’t plan on it. Please. And, like. I’m choosing to stay despite knowing that might be a possibility. If I regret that in the future, then I’ll blame myself, not you.”

“Why _are_ you choosing to stay?”

Harry leans his head back against the headboard, tired. There’s been too many conversations like this in the past few weeks. It’s exhausting. “Shouldn’t I be asking _you_ that? I never once wanted a divorce. That was never even a choice for me.”

“I thought you wanted out and were too chickenshit to do anything about it. Because you were too scared to lose a sense of normalcy and be on your own. I thought. . . I thought that wasn’t true, but sometimes I don’t know.”

This conversation started with Snoopy’s biting habit. It’s hard to remember that now.

“I haven’t had a sense of normalcy since Jack died,” Harry says quietly, and he shrugs. “And am I scared to be alone? Sure. I always have been. But that doesn’t have anything to do with our marriage. And you’re going to start making me paranoid as fuck if you keep waving around the idea of divorce.”

He doesn’t mean to say the last part, but he’s glad he did, because it _hurts_. Louis even using that word in relation to them at all makes Harry feel awful, and he doesn’t much appreciate how often it creeps into the conversation. No, they shouldn’t just forget that it had almost come to that, but he doesn’t need to be reminded of it constantly either. 

“Okay, that’s fair,” Louis says, and then he reaches forward to touch Harry’s cheek. The touch is hesitant initially, but gradually grows more certain as he turns Harry’s cheek to face him. “I believe you. I’m sorry for making this into a thing tonight. And I’d cuddle you as an apology, but there’s over a hundred pounds of dog separating us, so. Just gonna have to take my word for it.”

Harry doesn’t much feel like being cuddled, anyway, so he leans forward and kisses Louis briefly before returning back to his side, positioned away from Louis but not out of spite. He’s just used to sleeping this way now. 

Louis falls asleep first, like always, and Harry’s left to think. As always, his thoughts go to Jack. He misses his son more than he’s ever missed anything before. He thinks about holding him for the first time, and it’s a happy thought until his brain shifts to the last time he held him. And that’s not supposed to be how things _go._ That’s _unfair_. It’s what that Dimitris bloke at the hospital was going on about, the order of life and all that. Jack and Madison were supposed to bury Harry and Louis, not the other way around. Jack was supposed to be debilitated by the grief of losing a parent, not the other way around. That’s just how life is supposed to be, and Harry can’t stand the fact that it was taken from them. 

When Jack died, he didn’t go quietly. He couldn’t have. Because the loss of him sent everyone flying into panic and depression and anger and -- well. The stages of grief, and all that. Because people can’t just leave things unexplained, they had to go ahead and create a wheel of emotions you’re supposed to feel and in what order and when. Which -- great. Now he knows what this feeling is called, and now he knows that failure is the step before acceptance in his own little stupid grief cycle because what the hell does acceptance even _mean_ in this context, but he’ll never get to understand why Jack was taken away. That will forever be unexplainable, because cancer and a stroke -- that’s just bullshit. That’s a how, sure, but not a why, and since Harry doesn’t believe in any sort of higher being, he’ll just never get that. He’ll never get a why, and it’s human nature to want one, so he’ll spend his whole life with a hole in his heart and a question burning inside of him. 

Thinking about all this feels repetitive now, which is awful. _Awful_. Nothing about his son should feel mundane, but here he is, inwardly sighing at his little nightly spiral. He’s been through this over and over and over again, and now he’s stuck going through all this business with Louis over and over again, too. His mind is a never-ending pit of painful thoughts. 

With Louis, he has his how and why. The troubles arose because they were blinded with grief and depressed and angry, and they took it out on each other. It’s simple, really. Entirely avoidable, too. So, maybe Harry doesn’t have his “how” here, because surely, if he saw this coming and let it happen anyway. . . that’s a bit shit. 

Over and over again, his mind goes over the same thing. _That’s_ the real cycle of grief. 

-

The following day goes as normal, except instead of Harry pretending to be asleep while Louis gets dressed, he rolls over onto his back and asks Louis to make a vet appointment for the dogs, just a normal check-up. He hadn’t slept very well, and it’s been weighing on his mind. Hallie and Snoopy are still young and they have no idea where they came from, and Harry doesn’t want any surprise illnesses popping up. 

Louis agrees before heading back to the bathroom to mostly likely check his hair for the hundredth time. While he’s gone, Harry slowly sits up and debates on bringing up the other thing that had been on his mind all night. He doesn’t make a decision until Louis comes back out; he looks like he’s in a good mood this morning. 

“Hey,” Harry starts, and he drops his eyes to Cooper, who’s the only one still tucked into bed with him. “Do you care if I go to the cemetery today?”

Louis pauses by the door, looking a little surprised and guilty. A feeling Harry knows all too well: they stopped their Saturday visits a while ago. Naturally, too, like them going together was for them instead of Jack. Harry hates the way that feels. 

“Go for it,” Louis says after a few seconds. “Just, like. It’s been a rough winter, and I know they have a groundskeeper, but. Can you make sure his area looks nice before you leave? I’ve been thinking about it, too. Just haven’t had the guts to go.”

Harry nods. “It’s weird, right? That it feels like some giant thing, even though it’s just us talking to a rock.”

“It’s us visiting his final resting place, Haz,” Louis says, slightly agitated. “Don’t make it sound so inconsequential. Please.”

“I wasn’t trying to. It’s special to me, too, but, like. I don’t know.”

Louis’ face softens as he nods. “No, yeah, I get it. I always go expecting some, like, epiphany or something, and I never get one. I feel closer to him, I guess. Sometimes.”

Being close to your son isn’t something you should have to long for, but here they are. He’ll never forgive the unfairness of it all. 

“I felt the closest to him in New York,” Harry says, quiet. It felt foolish in the moment and sounds even worse out loud. Jack had never even been to the States. Harry’s pretty sure it was his way of feeling less guilty about the whole thing. And it just makes Louis sad, judging by his face. 

“He would’ve loved traveling.” Louis comes over and sits at the foot of the bed, too far away to touch. That was probably intentional. Harry gets that way sometimes, too. “I regret not taking him more places.”

“He would’ve gotten feisty if we couldn’t take Cooper,” Harry argues with a thin smile. “Jack would’ve chose Coop over some dumb city any day.”

Louis smiles, too, although his manages to look a little more real as he leans over to pet Cooper. His smile slips a bit, and Harry knows what he’s going to say before he says it. “We never talked about how his last words were about Cooper.”

God, he was expecting it, but it still hurts so, _so_ much. 

“Not surprised,” Harry whispers, and he rubs at his eyes even though tears haven’t formed yet. “They were best friends.”

“I don’t even think I would have wanted his last words to be about us,” Louis whispers back. They’re both petting Cooper now, maybe as an apology or a way to self-soothe. Harry doesn’t even know. “It was fitting, like. I like to think that’s who he thought about last. ‘Cause, like. Nobody else made him feel safer than Cooper.”

“You can’t get all upset before work,” Harry mumbles, heart aching. He reaches over to squeeze Louis’ wrist and gives him another smile. “Go on, you’re gonna be late. Try to have a good day.”

“You, too,” Louis says. He nods as he stands up, and with shaking hands, wipes his tears. Harry doesn’t think he’s going to get a kiss goodbye, so he’s pleasantly surprised when he does. When Louis pulls back, he says, “Say hi for me, yeah?”

He leaves, and when Harry hears the door click shut, the motivation to get out of bed is immediately lost. Jack’s grave won’t move. He can just go another day. With Louis. And he very nearly lets himself lay back down, but Cooper hops out of bed before he can. 

While he gets ready -- which only means he puts on a long, fluffy jacket and a pair of boots -- he debates if he should bring the puppies or not. To say hi to Jack. And when he rolls his eyes at that, because for some reason he can’t let himself believe that Jack is listening, he tells himself that they’ll keep him company. But after picturing Snoopy smashing head-first into some poor person’s headstone, Harry decides against it. 

“Alright, Coop,” he mumbles as he walks downstairs, the two girls running down in front of them. “I’m gonna take your sister to school and then we’re gonna go on a trip, okay?”

Cooper completely ignores him, obviously, but he does get excited when Harry grabs his leash. So do the little ones, but Harry can’t keep up with all three of them just yet. 

“Can Cooper come and say hi to my classmates?” Madison asks in the car. She’s in her car seat with her hands tucked in Cooper’s collar, keeping him close. It’s a miracle that he’s so patient with them. It’s like he knew from day one that it was his job to be the twins’ protector, a third companion. Jack never really had his hung too low, but after they got Cooper for him, he reached levels of happiness that Harry and Louis couldn’t have given him any other way. 

“No, babe. That’s too many little people around him. He’ll get stressed.”

It’s sort of a lie. Cooper doesn’t have very many limits, and he’d probably love being around a bunch of little ones. Harry will not risk him snapping and biting someone, though. They have somewhere to be, anyway. 

Madison pouts, although she doesn’t actually seem too sad. She still grabs Harry’s hand and lets him walk her to the door, and once she’s in, he lingers for a few seconds as he waits for the young kids walking up to the school alone. Maybe Harry’s just paranoid, and he’d never parent-shame anybody, but it takes two goddamn seconds to walk your kid up to the door. Two seconds versus the rest of your life choking on regret because something preventable happened. There’s still ice on the ground, too, and it’s --

Harry calms down once the kid gets inside fine, and he returns to the car to find Cooper sitting in the driver’s seat. It gets a smile out of him. 

As Harry parks at the cemetery -- which feels strange, honestly, like he’s just stopping at the grocery store or something normal -- he wonders if it’s inappropriate to bring a dog to a cemetery. And then he decides he doesn’t fucking care if it is, because Cooper is a good dog and Harry wants him here, and that’s all that matters. 

Part of Harry thought he’d get this big reaction out of Cooper once they reached his grave, but he’s relieved that there wasn’t. Cooper just sits at his feet when he stops, tall and patient. In front of the engraving of Cooper on the headstone is a fresh bouquet of flowers, and Harry has no idea who they’re from or when they were put there. He almost doesn’t like it. This is _Jack’s_ space, and Harry doesn’t want strangers invading it. It probably wasn’t a stranger, though. Could’ve been a number of people; just because Harry doesn’t talk to them anymore, that doesn’t mean people stopped caring about them. 

“Dad says hi, babe,” Harry says with a quiet sigh. He bends down to brush away a spot of mud distorting the A in his first name. Since he’s closer, he notices a gold tie around the flowers, one that he recognizes as his father’s signature. He’s sent enough apology flowers to Anne in the past few decades for Harry to know what it looks like. 

People haven’t forgotten Jack. Harry doesn’t know that he thought they had. 

“Cooper’s here,” he says, because he can’t do this quietly. He wants to talk right now. “He, um. He misses you, bud. We all do. Life is so much different without you. So much harder.” 

Once he starts, he can’t stop. He spends an hour whispering to Jack like he can hear. When they get home, Harry will have to give Cooper a bath, because halfway through he lays down on his side against the mud. 

“And, like, Madison still wears your turtle slippers even though she’s growing out of them,” Harry says. “She swears they still fit. And -- ”

He’s cut off by a loud, “Mum, _look_ , it’s a _dog_.”

Harry turns to see a little girl running towards them. She’s in a black dress and black flats, and with one look behind her at her family who are all dressed in black, too, he winces. They’re probably holding a service for a loved one, and Harry’s gone and distracted them with Cooper. 

“Cindy, stop it,” the mum scolds, followed by a teenager hurrying after her with a hushed, “I will literally kill you, Cindy, I swear to God.”

So it’s her brother. It makes Harry smile slightly. And then Cindy is right next to him, her hand on Cooper’s head. Harry doesn’t have a problem with it and he has a feeling she’s already due for a scolding, but she’s probably seven or eight and needs to understand that you can’t just pet a dog because it's cute. 

“Make sure you ask before you pet a dog, okay?” Harry tells her softly as he rests a hand on Cooper’s back. She stares at him with wide eyes, like she’s only now just realized she approached a stranger. “Cooper’s nice, but not all dogs are. You’ve got to be careful.”

She pouts. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Cooper’s nice, like I said. And so am I, but you probably shouldn’t talk to strangers, either.”

Before she can respond, her brother catches up to her and picks her up. She kicks out immediately and groans, and he shushes her before glancing at Harry. 

“I am so sorry,” he says. “So is she. Cindy, say you’re sorry.”

Cindy doesn’t apologize. Instead, she points at Jack’s headstone and says, “Look, there’s a dog there, too.”

“Don’t point,” the brother hisses with a flushed face.

“It’s okay, really,” Harry tells them. “Kids like dogs, I get it.”

They don’t stick around. After a few hurried apologies and awkward motioning, the brother takes Cindy back to their family, and Cooper and Harry are left alone. Harry’s not upset really, although the harsh whisper of, “Whoever that grave was for was _four,_ Cindy, and you just interrupted that poor man, and -- God, that was probably his son or something, Mum’s going to _kill_ you,” sort of put him in a worse mood for a reason he doesn’t quite understand. 

And the mood is entirely ruined, and he can’t bring himself to talk anymore when he feels watched, so after a few minutes, he stands up. There’s mud on both of them, but Harry has better luck in brushing it out of Cooper’s fur than off his pajamas. 

“Come on, Coop,” Harry says, and Cooper follows him to the car without any problems. On the way to the parking lot, he passes the family again, and they’re all huddled around a grave, but Cindy makes sure to wave. Even though he knows she was waving at Cooper, Harry waves back. 

-

Anne’s in the kitchen when Harry gets in, and he almost decides to blow her off and head upstairs. But he’s trying to be better for Louis, and that somehow probably includes him being a good son, too. Even though he doesn’t quite like how Anne has been so quick to defend Louis lately, but whatever. That’s not important right now. 

“Do you know when Dad visited Jack?” Harry asks as he steps around the puppies to get to the fridge. “There were flowers from him.”

Anne frowns at him. “Your father’s been in Germany for the last month and a half. Why did you think they were from him?”

“Had his gold ribbon on the bouquet,” Harry explains. He grabs one of Madison’s juice boxes out of the fridge and, when the idea of real food makes his stomach twist, one of her packets of apples and caramel, too. 

“Oh, it was probably Scott and Gemma, then,” Anne tells him, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Scott spent his whole life wanting to be rich.”

“Who doesn’t? Don’t act spoiled.”

Harry glares at her before he decides that it’s not worth it. “Not what I meant,” he mumbles. “Just, like. Louis would rather die than copy Dad’s stupid habits. I don’t know.”

“Louis’ isn’t someone who craves the approval of very many people. Me and your father always liked how his loyalty only really laid with you, that he wasn’t some suck-up.”

“Like Scott?” Harry asks, and Anne gives him a pointed look. 

“Be nice. He’s family.” She ducks her head down, but it doesn’t hide her smile completely. Before talking again, she fiddles with a stack of -- photos, he realizes. She’s probably updating the photo album. With a bunch of pictures that don’t have Jack in any of them. Fucking hell. 

“Honestly, though, honey, Louis is a good person,” Anne tells him. “He’s loyal and intelligent and hardworking, and I hardly doubt you could find anyone better than him. You’ll be stuck screwing twenty-somethings for the rest of your life like your dad if you mess this up.”

“That’s disgusting,” Harry says, shaking his head. That’s why he doesn’t call his father all too much; sometimes, he’d rather not know what he was doing. “And me and Louis are fine. I’m not messing anything up.”

“You -- ”

“We’re working on it,” Harry says hotly. He debates letting it stop there, but maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe he should be having similar conversations with his mum that he is with Louis. He would appreciate it if they could see eye-to-eye again. So, with a deep breath, he says, “I am massively grateful for everything you have done for my family, and my kids love you just as much as they love me, but sometimes I need you to back out of my relationship a bit. You don’t, like. You don’t have to have opinions about everything going on between us. And I know maybe that’s unfair because you live here, but we don’t like it when you pick sides.”

He expects either anger or approval, but all he gets is a neutral, “Fair enough,” before she picks up a picture of Madison and shows it to him. “I can’t figure out when this is from. I’m trying to keep your photo albums chronological, but there’s no date written on here.”

He sets down his food to grab the picture and look at it closer. Immediately, he nods and says, “Last Easter. She’s still got dye on her fingers from when you dyed eggs with her.”

“Oh, right,” his mum says, nodding. She slides the picture in the right spot with a small smile, and he gets a feeling that she already knew that and was just testing Harry. Reminding him that he was a good father, or something. Or showing him the things that he has missed these past two years. Whatever it is, Harry lets it sit in the back of his head as he goes out into the living room and eats his kid’s food while watching _SpongeBob_ because he can’t find the remote. Cooper is laying across his lap while the two little ones cuddle with each other beside him; they’ve got a bit of mud on their paws, too. They’re all just a bit messy, a little dysfunctional family. The thought makes him laugh out loud to himself. 

-

All of this rebuilding is exhausting. Harry’s exhausted. It was even more exhausting when it felt like everyone was mad at him all the time, though, so he tries to see the good in that. Louis tells him he doesn’t see the good in things anymore, and that things will get easier once he starts, so. Sure. Things are good. What things, he’s not sure, but whatever. 

(And he’s just miserable and tired. He knows there is good. He picked his kid up from school today and she looked at him like he hung the clouds just for her. He has three dogs who follow him absolutely everywhere. And as things get better with Louis, he finds himself aching to see him. That never really stopped, though. It probably was just pushed really, really, really low, buried underneath all the hurt. Plus, he got to spend four years with his best friend. Four great, happy years. And of fucking course he doesn’t believe that was fair or right, but he’s trying to avoid associating intense grief and devastation with his son, because Jack was too good for that.)

“ _Harry._ ”

Harry glances up from his coffee cup to find Anne and Madison staring at him with exasperated looks. He sits up straighter. “What?”

“We’ve only said your name, like, twelve times,” his mum says with a small sigh. “Stop it with the caffeine; I think you need to go to bed early tonight.”

Harry shrugs and glances at Madison. “Sorry, kiddo. What’d you say?”

She jumps onto the couch to sit next to him, and he’s thankful for the tight-hold he already had on his coffee so he didn’t spill it if one of the puppies decided to attack him. Wasn’t a puppy who did it, but it was still smart. 

“Can we keep Jack’s door open?” she says, eyes wide with hope. “Like we used to?”

He frowns at her. This is -- God. Not today, he thinks, not after he went to the cemetery, but he can’t exactly control it, can he? Madison’s looking at him today, right now. And she needs him to push through his exhaustion to help. 

“No,” he says softly. “The puppies will go in there and chew his toys and stuff up. That’s why we keep your door shut when you’re not in there, right? So we know they aren’t doing anything bad.”

She frowns back at him, sinks further into the couch. She must’ve not expected him to say no. 

“Hey, Mads, come on.” He sets his coffee on the table and scoots closer to her to wrap an arm around her tiny waist, pulling her closer. “No sad faces, alright? You can go in there whenever you want. He never minded when you barged in, did he?”

Madison shakes her head slowly. “He just didn’t like it if he was sick.”

“Right,” Harry whispers, trying to ignore how much that hurts. But he’s also so, so thankful that Jack got to live a life of cancer that just wasn’t _sick sick sick sick_ constantly. He was okay enough for his sister to not label all his life as sick days. “Just make sure you shut the door behind you. I don’t. . . I’d be sad if his stuff got ruined because Snoopy can’t keep her teeth to herself.”

As if to prove it, Madison reaches down to pet Snoopy, who immediately comes at her hand with an open mouth. It’s not aggressive at all -- Anne thinks she just doesn’t understand the concept of petting -- so Harry lets it be. 

“Could you come with me?” Madison asks, voice so low that Harry almost doesn’t hear her. And he wishes he didn’t hear her, God, he wishes he hadn’t. He hasn’t gone into Jack’s room in a while, and he doesn’t want to do it on a day that he’s already feeling a bit fragile. But Madison -- she can’t lose her connection with her brother, Harry can’t let that happen, and if taking her to his room will help that bond stay strong for another day, then he has to. For Jack, he has to. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” he tells her, no sign of hesitance in his voice. “Go put the dogs outside and we can go, okay?”

She hops off the couch and runs towards the back door, calling the dogs’ names far louder than she needs to. Once she’s gone, Anne turns to look at him. 

“I can go with her,” she says, and Harry doesn’t even let himself consider that. 

“No, I got it. She asked me.” He stands and sighs. “And, you know. Louis wouldn’t be too happy if I rejected her.”

His mum gives him a warm smile. “Good, Harry. That’s good.”

It doesn’t feel very good. It’s quite awful, actually. But when Madison runs back into the living room, past him and up the stairs while calling after him, Harry forces himself to just go with it. That’s all he can do sometimes. These past few months, he’s been trying to fight something he has no power against. Sometimes you just have to accept that there’s nothing you can do when you’re falling out from the sky. Clawing at the air won’t get you anywhere. This is one of those times. 

“How many times has Dad told you not to run up the stairs, hmm?” Harry asks once he reaches the top. Madison is waiting for him at Jack’s door, her hand on the door knob. “You’re going to age him.”

“Oopsies,” she says, and, once she gets a nod from Harry, opens the door. 

It’s not some grand reveal. Harry and Madison both know what Jack’s room looks like, obviously. But it _feels_ brand new. It feels like Harry has never actually been in here before, because if he had, then he’d remember how much it hurts to look at the crumpled bed sheets and the dog statue on the side table and the little stars that dangle from the lamp shade. It’s overwhelming. For Harry, anyway. Madison just seems intrigued. He has no idea how long she’s wanted to come in here for. 

Just when Harry’s about to tell her that she can touch whatever she wants to, Madison lets out a loud, offended shriek and says, “Hey, these were _mine_.” She hurries over to Jack’s open closet and shows him a pair of plaid slippers. “I’ve been looking for these!”

No, she hasn’t been, or else Harry and Louis wouldn’t have heard the end of it. Her outrage is cute, though. Makes him smile. And then it hurts all over again, because she tries to put the slippers on and they just don’t fit anymore. She’s officially completely outgrown her brother. It looks like she’s thinking the same thing, because she frowns down at the shoes, at how her heels don’t fit in. 

With a deep sigh, she sits on the edge of his bed. “I miss him,” she says, and then she falls back against the bed. “Everybody at school has siblings. It’s not fair.”

“Hey,” Harry says softly, coming to sit next to her. He pats her knee. “You still have a brother, even if he’s not here anymore. And I know that’s not the same, but. . . but it’s still something. Not everybody had as good of a sibling as Jack was to you. Auntie Gems was awful to me.”

That makes her giggle, and it soothes him greatly, gives him a better understanding of where her head is at. She’s just sad. Not achingly lonely or devastatingly depressed; just sad. Harry can handle this. 

“She was _not_. I don’t believe you.”

“She was,” Harry argues with a grin. “She made me do all sorts of things for her because I was younger. She cut my hair once, and when Grandma got mad, she blamed it on me. Said I did it all by myself. Awful, I tell you. Absolutely awful.”

After her loud laugh, an expected silence falls over them. There really isn’t anything to say. They’ve gone through all of this before, examined all these wounds up close. It’s hard to constantly revisit the same subjects when they don’t bring any new healing, when the hurt just won’t let go no matter what. 

For another five minutes, it’s silent aside from the noise of Madison sliding her too-small slippers together. And then, randomly, she jumps up, says she has to make brownies before daddy gets home, and bolts out of the room. Harry tries to tell her not to run, especially in those shoes, but she’s off before he even gets a word out. 

Many things have changed, but she isn’t one of them. He can always count on her and her stupid habit of running on the stairs, no matter what happens. 

-

For all the things they talk about, the things that they _don’t_ have to ask of each other that occur are probably what mends their relationship. It’s clear they’re both trying to comfort and support each other, that both of them are actively trying to make the other happy. It feels like they’re dating again, sort of, because Harry hasn’t sat around thinking about what might make Louis happy in a long time. Not that he just hasn’t tried to make Louis happy since they’ve dated; for years and years, Harry didn’t have to think about it, he just did it. Now, it’s a little bumpier, but it leads to the same effects. 

Nobody asks Harry to walk the dogs, but Harry does it anyway because, well. They should be doing that anyway. And nobody asks Harry to call his sister and best friend and dad, and, again, he should have been doing that anyway, but it’s -- it still counts. He _has_ been asked to be more vocal during dinner and to start leaving the house more, but now he’s actually _doing_ those things so they count, too. It feels a bit shit, honestly, giving himself a pat on the back for doing normal things that he should have already been doing. It makes Louis happy, though. Anne, too. Madison by extension. And yes, there are some days that Harry wants to scream at everybody because the things he does to make them happy make him downright exhausted and overwhelmed, but he doesn’t do that. Most days, anyway. He keeps his cool because there’s no reason for the way going to the park with the dogs makes him as tired as it does, and that’s nobody’s fault. 

(He gets less nervous looks from the mums at the park when he has the dogs. Now, he just gets looks of sympathy because Hallie or Snoopy are always tripping him or pulling on the leash or barking.)

Louis continues to call his family more. He starts to text Harry randomly throughout the day, and each time Harry’s phone lights up, he knows it’s going to be the first stupid thought that popped in Louis’ head, and he _loves_ it. Something as simple as a picture of a venue he’ll never go to or a text about event planning that he doesn’t understand or a good morning makes Harry light up and smile and feel less alone. It’s like Louis’ there with him all day, and it’s -- God. It’s everything. 

Louis also starts being more open with his hard days. Sometimes he’ll flat out say, _yeah, today was a shit day._ And Harry knew that Louis was hurting, too, of course he knew that, it’s just. It’s nice to hear, as awful as that sounds. He doesn’t hope that Louis has bad days; all he wants is for himself to stop feeling so alienated in his grief. Because grief is an ugly thing, and it’s not something Harry could go at alone. He tried. Believe him, he tried. 

Harry and Louis never directly talk about that horrible fight they and Anne had, but Harry thinks about it. A lot. So many people said so many awful things to each other. It was their rawest moment of grief, and they just didn’t ever talk through it. Never apologized. He figures they all knew the moment that it was over that nobody actually meant any of it. Still, though. It feels wrong to keep buried. Harry won’t bring it up out of fear that Louis has forgotten. 

After that fight, it really was an end. There was no way to go back from that, just forward, and that’s what had changed. Their old way of doing things was over, and they’ve had to figure that out. It’s taken them a while, sure, but it’s worth it. Now, they’re growing together again, not just simultaneously falling apart, and that’s. . . that’s new. That’s a new beginning. 

-

Sometimes, to keep himself on track, Harry writes a list of things he needs to do throughout the week. It’s a Monday, and so far all he’s written down and committed to is: _Monday - call Gemma. Go somewhere?? Tuesday - replace the shower curtain._ He’s working on Wednesday’s agenda at the kitchen table when Anne comes into the kitchen and sets her hand on his shoulder. 

“What are you up to today, hmm?”

“Don’t know,” he says with a small shrug. “Don’t feel like going anywhere today. The weather’s shit.” He frowns at his list before writing _call vet about puppies_ next to Wednesday. They’ve got to get them spayed soon. The last thing they need is for one of the dogs winding up pregnant somehow. 

“You need a haircut,” Anne tells him, moving her hand to tug gently at the ends of his hair. “We’re not going back to your uni days.”

“Louis doesn’t mind it,” Harry mumbles, but he adds that to Thursday’s agenda anyway. 

“Me and him were talking last night, actually.” She moves to sit across from him at the table. Harry fell asleep early the night before, his brain far too tired from how much he’s been pushing himself lately. So, he’s not exactly thrilled when Anne says, “We couldn’t agree on if you’d be open to getting a job or not.”

Harry snorts. “I haven’t worked a day in my life, Mum.”

“Not true. You worked at that yogurt shop during the summer throughout university.”

“To be with Louis,” Harry reminds. That’s all it was about; however, he did feel a small sense of pride when he used that money to buy his textbooks instead of his parents’. “I don’t know. I still like staying at home with Maddie. And, like. . . If we do decide to get more kids, I want to be here with them, too.”

“Louis said you’d say no.” Anne smiles, shaking her head. “But really, Harry. We think it’d be good for you. To give you, like, a sense of community and a routine and motivations. I don’t know. If that sounds like too big of a step, the two of us could start volunteering together somewhere. You know, like how me and Gemma used to volunteer at the soup kitchen?”

Harry feels icky, suddenly, and he leans back against the chair. He’s done nothing for this world. Unless Madison turns out to be the next prime minister or something great like that, really, Harry hasn’t left this world better than he found it. “I get why Louis hates our money a little bit now,” he says with a sigh. Louis has always said that their kids will get a job when they’re eighteen, no if and or buts. Harry understands that better now. 

“We could volunteer at the animal shelters, too,” Anne continues. When Harry doesn’t respond to that, she shrugs. “Just think about it, honey.”

“I can’t in good faith say no to volunteer work when I have the time,” Harry says, only a little grumpy about it. He’d feel awful about himself if he declined to do something like that. “I don’t know. Could be good for me, I guess. Now that I’m not busy with the kids, like. Might as well make myself useful somewhere else.”

It’s not a bad idea, honestly. It would give him something to do, force him to interact with other people, make him feel good about himself. And he can’t say no, can he, so there’s no harm in saying yes. He’ll try it once, and if it’s not unbearable, then there’s no reason not to try it again. Maybe. . . maybe he could even volunteer somewhere else, when he’s up for it. Like a hospital, or somewhere with kids. Maybe that could be enough, maybe -- maybe he and Louis don’t have to get more kids if Harry can just fill that desire with someone else’s kids. And yeah, if Louis heard him say that, he’d say that this is what he meant when he said Harry wasn’t ready for more kids, that he was using them as a means to to plug the hole of hurt in his chest. 

-

Louis is beyond surprised that Harry agrees to go and volunteer at a food bank three days later. More surprised than he was when Harry told him he was thinking about it in the first place. Harry tells him the night before, and Louis looks proper stunned. Freezes in his spot and everything. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Harry mumbles as he steps out of the shower. He planned to shower before bed to clear his head, but Louis read the situation wrong and slipped in with him. Harry’s not complaining; his head is clear, his legs are weak, and his husband is happy. “I already feel like a major idiot for doing it. Like, I know my mum and dad donate a lot of money, but -- still. Feels icky.”

“Now you know how I’ve felt for the last fifteen years.” Louis’ still in the shower scrubbing up, while Harry is standing in front of the foggy mirror and drying off his body. _Fifteen years_ echoes in his mind. It’s a rounded-up estimate, but still. They’re pretty damn close to it. And he loves Louis so, so much, and he loves spending time with him, but -- fuck. Fifteen _years_. If all things go according to plan -- the same exact plan Harry’s had for all fifteen of those years -- then he and Louis have, like, fifty years to go. Sixty if they’re lucky. They’re not even halfway done, and that’s sort of amazing and sort of terrifying at the same time. Jack only got to be there for four years, and there’s so many years to go after him. That’s shit.

“I like being able to help our kids,” Harry says firmly. “And our kids’ kids. Although Madison doesn’t seem the type to want to stay in one place for long like I do, so she probably won’t need our help.”

“You know who does? Thousands of other people’s children. Volunteering is a good thing to do, babe, seriously. More people should do it. Hell, _I_ should do it.”

A fierce protectiveness rips through Harry’s chest. Not of Louis, but of himself. “You’re gone enough as it is. I don’t want you out of the house more than you have to be.”

And that’s unfair, probably, because Madison and Louis are alike in the fact that they are restless individuals who don’t like sitting around. He accepts that for Madison and can’t do the same for his husband. It’s backwards, and it sounds far more controlling than he’d like it to or means for it to be, but he tries not to feel too awful for it. Louis knows that all Harry means by that is that he doesn’t want Louis away right now. When they get to a better place and Harry isn’t still drowning in grief, maybe he can re-learn how to be okay with Louis being more independent. 

Louis doesn’t push him. Instead, he says, “We should go to New York again this summer.” He stops the shower and steps out, and Harry hands him the towel. “Maybe we could even, like, go there for the twins’ birthday. ‘Cause you said that’s where you felt closest to Jack. Make it a tradition, or something.”

A small, warm smile blossoms on Harry’s face. “Yeah,” he says softly, loving the idea more and more as the seconds pass by. “Yeah, that sounds nice. Really nice. That’s -- yeah. Sure.”

Louis returns the smile, and Harry mentally adds New York to August’s agenda. The number of things he has to look forward to are steadily adding up. 

-

At the food bank, Harry doesn’t immediately fall back into his old social, people-loving self that he used to be like he was hoping he would. He spends the first hour wound up and refuses to leave his mum’s side, which is a bit problematic because they’re supposed to be moving quickly. They bump into each other too many times to count because Harry is always _right_ there. Slowly, though, he calms down a little. Slightly. It’s hard to do that when the line of people doesn’t slow down until the very end, so there are no breaks. But the fast-paced work helps keep his mind clear and focused just as much as it makes it busy and frantic. That shouldn’t make sense, but it’s exactly what’s going on in his head. 

By the time they’re done, Harry feels terrible about himself and the world while also feeling a little bit better about himself. Not for doing charity work -- nobody deserves a pat on the back for doing something easy for those in need -- but for doing something. For waking up in the morning, getting dressed, being productive, and feeling a little sore by the end of the day. Since it’s the weekend, Louis is at home waiting for him, which makes it even better. 

He doesn’t tell his mum as much, solely because he’s been ignoring her advice for months and doesn’t feel like proving her right. 

Louis’ in the basement playing a board game with Madison when they return home. Harry hesitates joining them, and then forces himself to. He’s got to stop giving into that defeat all of the time. 

“Hiya, babes,” he says, and immediately, the dogs are on him in excitement. He pets them quickly before walking over to Louis and Madison and giving each of them a kiss. They’re playing a game of checkers, even though Harry knows firsthand how annoying it is to play with Madison. He loves her to bits, but God, she makes up the most confusing rules. 

“You look tired,” Louis tells him as Harry pulls away. They’re sitting on the bean bags, so Harry lays on the couch. Cooper hops up with him, and Snoopy tries, but she slips down. Her legs are still little. He’s dreading the day they grow into their full size. 

Helping the younger ones up, he says, “Yeah, I’ll probably take a nap. Just wanted to say hi before I did.”

“I’m beating Dad at checkers,” Madison says, and Louis snorts. 

“She sure is.”

“Be nice to your Dad,” Harry tells her, already closing his eyes. He _is_ tired. Productivity doesn’t have a right to be so tiring. ‘

“Never,” Madison says deviously, and Harry smiles softly to himself. His smile widens when Hallie curls up on his chest, her head under his chin. _Jack would’ve loved you,_ he thinks just like always. Now, though, it’s a little less sad.

-

Harry’s efforts are strong, and they’re not going unnoticed. However, he is not the one to arrange the play-date between Madison and Charlie, nor is he very fond of the idea. 

Harry’s barely living in harmony with his family again and he doesn’t want that disrupted, if he wants to put it dramatically. If he wants to put it simply, he’s not in the mood for company pretty much ever nowadays, and that includes his sister and five-year-old nephew. But when Anne comes upstairs on Sunday morning to tell Harry and Louis that Gemma and Charlie are coming over today, it’s a statement, not a question. 

“They’ll be here in an hour,” she says, already turning away from their questioning stares. “I’ll have Madison ready by then.”

“Wait, Mum,” Harry tries, but she’s already gone. Harry sighs and turns over in bed so he’s laying flat on his stomach. He’s too tired to deal with this today, and that on top of the fact that he was planning on squeezing shower sex in with Louis before they went downstairs for the morning -- he’s irritated. 

“I’m just surprised it took her this long to invite herself over,” Louis says, and he doesn’t sound nearly as annoyed as Harry does. “Charlie’s a good kid, isn’t he?”

Harry lets out an indistinct sound, not in the mood to talk. 

“Someone’s grouchy this morning,” Louis whispers with a smile clear in his voice. Harry shoves his face further into the pillow. 

“I love having her here, but God, I hate it at the same time.”

Louis laughs. “Come on, love. We haven’t seen them since Christmas.”

“That wasn’t that long ago,” Harry argues. 

Louis laughs again as he gets out of bed, and Snoopy and Hallie jump off with him. Cooper’s the only loyal one still; he cuddles further into Harry’s legs instead of getting up. Harry and Cooper lay in bed together for forty minutes until Louis tells him that he has to get up and take a quick shower before his sister gets here or else he’s going to drag him in there.

“Which would take less effort on my part?” Harry asks, and Louis grabs an old sweater off the floor and throws it at him. 

By the time Gemma arrives -- ten minutes late like usual -- Harry is clean, has coffee and food in him, and his daughter is singing to him about pancakes. He’s in a little bit better of a mood, so he doesn’t aggressively hate her presence. His irritation goes down even further once Charlie comes running into the kitchen with a bright smile, only to run right back to Gemma’s side fearfully as he whimpers at the dogs. 

“They were here last time and you loved them, bud,” Louis says, frowning at Charlie’s who is now in his mum’s arms, clutching onto her as he stares down at the dogs beneath them. 

Gemma pets his hair, and Harry absolutely does not think about how much he misses holding Jack, how his chest aches for the familiar weight, how he wonders if Jack’s hair would have ever straightened out.

“He picks a new thing to be scared of every week,” she explains with an eye roll. “He’s grown up with Nemo at home his entire life, and now he’s decided he has to be scared of her. He’ll grow out of it.”

Madison wrinkles her nose at Charlie. “Don’t be such a scaredy cat.”

“Hey,” Harry says mildly. “Don’t be mean. It’s okay to be scared.”

Madison looks at him like he’s dumb as she leans in close to whisper in his ear, “I like being mean to Charlie, Daddy. It’s okay.”

He laughs, pulling her hand away from his ear. “That’s not very nice, baby. He’s your cousin. You should be nice to everyone.” He frowns. “I hope you’re not like that at school, bug.”

She looks offended. “I have _so_ many friends, Daddy. Like, the most in the class.”

“And you got those friends by being nice, I’m sure,” he says, and she shrugs. Harry hasn’t been told that she has an attitude problem, so he lets it be. When he glances back to Gemma, she’s smiling softly at him, and he rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t. Go sit in the living room, I’ll be there in a sec. Do you want coffee?”

“I’ll take tea,” Gemma says, and Harry shakes his head as he stands. 

“I’m not making tea.”

Louis snorts as Anne slaps Harry on the shoulder. 

“I’ll make tea for you, sweetie,” Anne says with a sigh. “And you, too, Louis. Just go sit in the living room, like my terrible son said.”

Harry shrugs and pours himself more coffee. He’s only messing around -- or maybe he’s not, because he really would not have made her tea -- and he’s pretty sure everyone understands that. 

Once his mug is full, he shuffles out of the kitchen after everyone else except Anne, and he kisses her cheek as he goes past. Gemma and Louis are sitting on the couch with the puppies, already engaged in a conversation. Madison and Charlie are with Cooper on the rug, and Charlie’s initial fear of the dogs seems to have completely disappeared. 

“Daddy,” Madison starts and Harry sits next to Louis. He looks over at her, and she grins. “Charlie isn’t a scaredy cat anymore.”

“No name-calling, Mads, come on. Seriously.”

She just giggles. With a sigh, Louis tells him to let it go for now. 

“We were just talking about how Madison is doing in school,” Gemma explains, and Harry suppresses a sigh. He wouldn’t mind seeing his sister if they didn’t have to do this -- the catching up and her awkward attempt of seeing how they’re doing. He’s sure Anne has kept her updated, so he doesn’t understand the need for this. 

“She’s fine,” Harry says, nodding. “Doesn’t complain about it much.”

“She doesn’t like her uniform,” Louis adds, even though Harry has not once heard her complain about it. 

“See, that’s why I’m sending my kids to public schools,” Gemma says, which launches Louis into his rant of _see, I agree, blah blah blah_. And Harry has no issue with Louis or Gemma’s opinions, it’s just -- Harry and Louis made a decision together that he intends to stick to.

“You went to private schools and turned out alright,” Harry argues, looking at Gemma. “I liked our school, even if our sports teams were shit.” _Especially_ since their teams were shit, actually. He wouldn’t have met Louis if they were any good. 

Still, Harry doesn’t hear the end of it until ten minutes later when Anne walks into the living room with two cups of tea and a platter of fruit. _She_ agrees with Harry, and the conversation quickly changes topic because nobody can get her to change her mind. Harry’s come to know that intimately these past few years. 

Harry’s stomach drops at the thought. He doesn’t like that the years are adding up since Jack’s death. He doesn’t want that distance to grow. God, no he absolutely does not. 

Before he can dwell on it, Madison is telling Charlie to follow her and they both race up the stairs together. All four of them sigh simultaneously. 

-

Gemma and Charlie end up staying until lunch, and Harry can’t lie and say he enjoyed the company. He gets overwhelmed so easily now, is the thing, so even though he liked having them over, he’s not exactly upset when they leave, either.

Charlie’s cute. He’s really cute. Cuddly, too. Harry came up behind him and picked him up, and he expected a shriek and some kicking like he got with Madison and Jack, but Charlie just turned in his arms and set his head on Harry’s shoulder. It made his heart hurt as he squeezed Charlie softly, and he kissed his cheek. 

Shit, does having another kid around the house hurt. It hurts something awful. 

Louis felt it, too. Harry was sure of it. He caught the lingering gazes and the frowns and the soft smiles. Even if it wasn’t their own, it was painful to be reminded of what it was like to have two kids running around in the house, to see how happy Madison looked with another kid around. It would be the perfect opportunity to turn to Louis and say, _Could you honestly say you don’t want this?_ Harry doesn’t, though. He keeps his mouth shut because he’s trying to be better and that doesn’t include rubbing things into your grieving husband’s face in his moment of weakness. 

And when Louis brings it up later on that night, Harry continues to keep his mouth shut because Louis knows what he wants. Harry doesn’t have to constantly remind him. 

“She was really happy,” Louis says in a low voice. They’re folding laundry together on the bed, because Anne came in and said she didn’t feel like doing it tonight. If they were to leave it for tomorrow or something, she’d end up doing it anyway, and neither of them want to make her feel obligated. They’re grown men; they can handle a bit of laundry. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “She was.”

“She likes picking on him. She didn’t really do that with Jack.”

“Because Jack wouldn’t have gotten wound up like Charlie does.” He smiles, and it’s equal parts sad and happy. Those two emotions are slowly starting to match up more and more. “All the time, Jack didn’t even realize she was giving him a hard time. It wasn’t worth the effort on her end.”

Tentatively, Louis says, “She would abuse her power as an older sibling for sure, if. We know. If we ever decided to do that.”

He’s scared to even talk about it because of how explosive Harry has been with the idea as of late. The topic of kids has become uncomfortable and awkward to discuss because of Harry, and that’s -- ugh. He hates that. So much. 

“She really would,” Harry says as nonchalantly as he can. “But, like. She’d also be a really good big sister, too, I think. But she’s also probably enjoying being by herself for once. Without anyone to compete with for attention.” 

Harry sighs as he realizes that’s the truth. Undoubtedly, under her grief, she is secretly enjoying being the center of attention. That’s only natural, considering she was quite literally pushed to the back when Jack was around. They had to; Jack was sick and tired and dying. Madison will understand when she’s older, if she doesn’t already. 

The topic is getting to be too heavy, and one of them is bound to snap eventually. So, Harry takes a deep breath and says, “I just hope that Madison isn’t a complete jackass to everyone at school.”

“Please.” Louis grins. “I didn’t raise her to be anything but an absolute pain in the arse. I hope she’s giving everyone at school a run for their money.”

Harry rolls his eyes and hits Louis with a sock.

-

On Easter, Harry and Louis wake up early in the morning, get a grumpy Madison dressed and ready to go, and the three of them drive to the cemetery to visit Jack. Just before they leave, with Madison cuddled into Louis on his hip even though she’s getting a bit heavy to do that, she quietly asks, “Can we take an Easter egg? So he knows it’s Easter?”

Harry’s heart all but breaks at his sweet girl, and he grabs two plastic Easter eggs off the table and pockets them. 

All this time, they were hesitant to bring Madison to the cemetery. They weren’t sure if she’d understand, first off all, and they absolutely did not want to interfere with her grieving process. They were also just scared it would upset her, but they figured it was time. It has to be. It’s nearly been two and half years by now -- and wow, it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long while simultaneously feeling like it’s been double that -- and she deserves to be with her brother in the last way she can. 

“We have to be quiet here, okay?” Louis tells her as they get out of the car. The parking lot is packed with cars, meaning the cemetery will be crawling with people here to mourn their dead. It’s heartbreaking; grief has always felt so personal, so individual and isolating, and it’s not. Everybody’s lost someone, or they will eventually. Death is a part of life. 

“Okay,” Madison whispers, and she reaches for both of their hands. 

Hand-in-hand, the three of them walk down the gravel pathway together. With their heads hung low out of respect, they pass grieving mothers and fathers and friends and siblings. Finally, they arrive at Jack’s. Harry doesn’t look up at first, and he watches their feet stop in the gravel a few feet in front of his grave. Madison’s in slippers, Louis’ in tennis shoes, and Harry’s in boots. She rocks on her feet nervously, her fingers wiggling against his. 

“It says his name,” she says, still in a whisper. Louis crouches down beside her, and Harry instinctively does the same. His body goes down faster than he means it to, and his knees nearly crash against the ground but he catches himself in time. 

“Yeah, baby,” Louis says. “It does. Everyone has their names on the gravestones, so we know which is which.”

“And Cooper.”

Harry squeezes her hand. “Do you think he’d like it, baby?”

He finally looks at her, and her face is scrunched up in concentration. Her lips in a pout, her eyebrows knitted, her nose wrinkled slightly. She nods slowly before turning to Harry. 

“The Easter eggs,” she reminds, so Harry pulls them out of his pocket and hands them to her. She lets go of both their hands to grab them, and she runs her fingers over them a few times before stepping forward and setting them against the stone. One teeters a bit, threatening to roll away, but she steadies it carefully. 

“There,” she says, stepping away. “Now he knows it’s Easter.”

Harry has to look away, tears in his eyes. His baby made sure his boy knew it was Easter. Times like this, the grief feels unbeatable. 

Louis’ hand presses against Harry’s knee, and the touch isn’t enough to soothe him, but it feels like one day it might be. 

“That’s very nice of you, Maddie,” Louis tells her, and Harry nods wordlessly. 

They only stay for twenty minutes or so; Harry and Louis are hurting and Madison is complaining about the cold. Usually, they’re here longer than this, but they didn’t come for them, they came for Madison. If she wants to leave, then they’ll leave. 

When they get back home, Harry and Louis enter the house with sorrow etched into their faces, grief filling their gut and hurt hammering in the hearts, but Madison -- she runs into the kitchen in her little slippers and yells, “Grandma, we’re two eggs short! I gave them to Jack!”

A tiny, tired laugh is punched out of Harry as Louis squeezes his hand. Seeing him never gets any easier, any less tiring. That’s the hardest part about mourning, he’s pretty sure: every day it’s a constant struggle. Every day, he has to accept that his son is gone. It’s getting less painful to do that slowly but surely, but _shit_. 

“Your mum can take care of her, if you wanted to go upstairs for a bit,” Louis tells him quietly. He shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind laying back down for a bit. It’s up to you.”

And Harry wants nothing more than to go curl back up into bed with his husband and his dogs, but he’s seventy-percent sure that he won’t get up again if he does that. So, with exhaustion clinging to every bit of him, he shakes his head. “It’s Easter,” he says. “I’m so sick of screwing up holidays for her.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees, nodding. “Okay, yeah. Come on. I can make us some tea.”

Louis leans forward to press a kiss to Harry’s temple, and he leans against it with a small sigh. It’s another holiday without Jack, and it feels equally as awful as the rest, but at least this time he knows that Jack gets to celebrate in his own way. Those two plastic eggs laying on his grave along with knowing that Jack isn’t completely left out thaws the guilt over Harry’s heart. It makes him able to sit with the family who _can_ properly celebrate and smile in a way that doesn’t feel so forced. 

-

about two years later. 

-

“I want to go to New York.”

“We were literally there for Christmas, H.”

“But that was a few months ago. What if -- California. Let’s go to California. This weekend.”

“ _You_ have a therapy appointment this weekend, and I’m going out with Zayn.”

Harry pouts as he sinks further into the clear bath water. He can feel Louis’ body shift in an attempt to make room for Harry’s long limbs; even in their big bath, Harry’s too lanky and takes up too much space. He could just pull his knees up, couldn’t he, but then he’s practically bent in half. That’s not relaxing, and Dr. Patricia says baths should _relax_ him. He tells Louis as much every time he complains about Harry’s toes poking him in the ribs. 

He did not go to therapy easily. He went kicking and screaming, more like. It’s not like was in denial, because he wasn’t. After that talk almost three years ago now in which Harry and Louis decided to really give their marriage another shot, Harry was relentless in his efforts to do better for his family. Slowly and also all at once, Harry and Louis realized that he couldn’t do better if _he_ wasn’t better. Faking it for the sake of his family wasn’t working; Harry started dragging his feet and starting arguments and slacking in his new routines. He was burnt out, Dr. Patricia tells him now. Demanding too much from himself. Thankfully, Louis didn’t get mad. He was actually incredibly understanding about it. 

But then came him gently encouraging the idea of therapy. And then gentle pushing morphed into pleas and near-demands. Harry couldn’t see why a therapist would help, anyway. What could a stranger tell him about the loss of his son? It felt stupid and invasive and like Louis and his mum were out of options and trying to make him someone else’s problem. 

They argued about it constantly, until one day almost two years ago Harry snapped, “If you want me to go, then you have to go, too.” He thought it would make Louis back off, thought Louis would see how hypocritical he was being. It did the opposite, and Louis made back-to-back appointments for the following day. 

Harry was pissed, but also incredibly nervous. He didn’t want someone else’s fingers trying to pull at the tangled ball of grief he had been carrying around for years. Louis didn’t give him much of a choice, though, and he probably shouldn’t have. Therapy isn’t some cure-all, but it has definitely helped. Outside of the psychology aspect of it, simply having somewhere to be once a week helps, as does Louis and him bonding over the whole experience of it all. Louis doesn’t see Dr. Patricia, he sees a doctor called Smith at the same clinic. 

After about a year into therapy, Harry told Louis he could stop going if he wanted, because Harry fully understood that he was the only one of the two who needed to see a grief counselor. But Louis didn’t want to make Harry feel alone, so he continuously goes just so they can be in this together. 

“Save California for summer, okay?” Louis says, and Harry shrugs. The bath water around them is clear; there’s not even any bubbles. They’ve all ran out of their bottle of bubbles, and Madison’s too old for it now so they can’t even go and steal hers. Since the water is clear, though, Harry can see everything, and it feels more intimate this way. And also a bit weirder, if he’s being honest. 

“Fine,” Harry agrees. It’s not hard to agree to by any means; they did just go to New York, and they have been going to New York every August for the twins’ birthday for the last few years. They’ll be back to their newly-purchased New York home soon enough. Celebrating in the city makes a devastating moment a happier one, which is what Madison deserves and Jack would have wanted. 

He reaches forward to poke Louis’ ribcage. “Still can’t believe you stole my tattoo.”

Louis snorts. “Me neither. Who gets geese tattooed on them willingly? Should’ve went for, like, a dove or something.”

Harry digs his fingers in-between his ribs, and Louis kicks him, hard. Hard enough for them to splash a decent amount of water out of the tub in the struggle, and both of them laugh loudly before settling down again. 

It’s peacefully quiet for a minute, maybe two, before Madison shouts, “DAD! Where’s your charger? I’m talking to Maia and your phone’s about to die!”

Louis rolls his eyes as he sets his against the side of the tub. “Where it always is!” he calls back. It seems to do the trick, because she doesn’t holler up the stairs at them again. Louis’ eyes slip shut and he shakes his head. “She’s not even nine yet. The fuck are we going to do when she becomes a teenager?”

Harry hums. “Cry, probably.”

“I’m serious,” Louis says with a laugh. “She’s growing up far too fast. She’s in the fourth grade already.”

And the time-frame for them to adopt again is getting smaller, it feels like. Harry doesn’t want to have Madison be ages older than her siblings. Harry and Louis have talked about this, though. Planned it out like the mature adults they are. In the next couple of years, they’ll adopt a kid only a few years younger than Madison so their age-gap won’t be too uncomfortable between them. When that adjusts itself, however long that may take, Harry and Louis are going to adopt another baby. A _baby_. Two more kids. _Two_. This has been the plan for nearly four months now, and Harry still gets nervous with the idea. Louis could change his mind at any second. 

He won’t, though. He wants a family with Harry, a big one. He said as much, and Harry has to trust him. 

Louis sighs as he sinks further into the tub, and Harry follows suit, his eyes slipping shut as well. 

-

On the kitchen wall, between the portrait of that trip to Doncaster after Jack’s first surgery and Harry and Louis’ wedding photo, lies that Gucci shoe box that the kids’ decorated with the beads and their handprints. It hasn’t been touched up at all, the glue from fallen off beads noticeable and charming, although it’s been framed. It’d been an anniversary gift from Louis, and because Louis is just that type of person, the frame has Harry’s bee and polar bear tattoos etched into the sides. Above it is Harry’s most recent anniversary gift for Louis, which is their matching geese tattoos carved into an elegant piece of wood. 

“Because you liked my tattoo enough to steal it,” Harry had joked as he showed it to him, a nervous but hopeful smile on his face. He watched Louis carefully, saw how his eyes lit up and his smile widened. He noticed the moment Louis had started to tear up. 

“There’s enough space to add more little geese,” Louis had said with a sniffle as he stared down at the wood in Harry’s end. “You know, in case. In case we really did adopt more kids.”

The present was what led them to start having serious talks about adopting more kids. It was an intense time for them filled with insecurities and doubt. Harry can’t remember how many times he worried that Louis didn’t actually want more kids and was just doing it because he thought that was what Harry needed. He also can’t remember how many times Louis rolled over in bed and spewed thousands of what ifs, anxious by the idea of their family expanding. But they got through that all -- without too many fights, without accusations thrown at each other, without petty bullshit -- and came to a decision together. 

Harry and Louis are incredibly scared that they’re planning on adopting another child too soon after Jack died. It’s been nearly five years, and it’ll be even longer once they actually start the progress, but fuck. Harry gets light-headed on a near-daily basis with the idea that other parents will judge them for their decision. 

Every time Harry looks at the kitchen wall filled with keepsakes, those fears either consume him or become smoothed over. Today, looking at Jack’s tiny little handprint relaxes him. Because even though that handprint is as tiny as it is, it could have been smaller. It could have been half the size when Jack died. But Harry got to have him for as long as he did, and he has to be grateful for that. It feels morbid to be, but Harry’s learned that morbidity is a part of grief. Losing a loved one is never clean or decent. 

Today, Liam’s sitting across from him at the kitchen table. Harry wonders what he feels as he stares at it, but he doesn’t ask. 

“I’m surprised you and Louis managed to make a messily decorated shoe box not look tacky,” is what Liam says, a soft smile on his face. He’s been here since that was hung out, and he still comments on it every time. All of their guests do. It’s an uncomfortable reminder of what is missing from this home, from this family; a painful but necessary reminder. 

“My mum helped us. Between Louis’ decorative skills and my mum’s surprisingly good use of a hammer, they got it all sorted.”

Liam tears his eyes from the wall to look at Harry. “I still can’t believe she’s moving out, mate. She’s been here forever, it feels like.”

_That’s_ a relatively new decision, but it’s also painful and necessary. It happened naturally, too. Anne started talking about travelling the world at the same time Harry and Louis started talking about their plans as a family. It wasn’t even an awkward conversation between Harry and Anne when he had brought up that maybe it was her time to go. 

“You only signed up to be here for Jack,” Harry had said, voice so soft. He was nervous. “And you ended up having to be there for me instead, and I’m -- me and Louis are both massively appreciative of what you’ve done for us. Madison, too. But I think -- I think you should go and travel like you were talking about with Gemma the other day. I think it’s time, you know?”

It was the last thing that Harry needed to do in order to move on. Move on; he still fucking hates that phrase, Jesus fucking Christ. He’s not moving on from Jack, he’s moving on the pain. Dr. Patricia reminds him of that every time he gets irrationally upset about that simple phrase. He’s moving on from the devastating grief that still brings him to his knees, not from his beautiful, darling son. Never that. Jack will forever be inked into his soul, and Harry wants nothing more than to carry him with him for the rest of his life. That grief, though; he can’t expect himself to hold onto that weight forever. 

He still doesn’t believe that closure is a real thing. That wound won’t and couldn’t ever heal. He does, however, know that he has to get as close to it as he possibly can. 

His mum moving out is his last real step into facing this head-on. In her absence, he’ll have to face the reality of Jack’s loss yet again. This change is only occurring due to his death. Harry will also be the one picking up most of the responsibilities she carries, which will add more weight to his load, but weight he should be able to carry. If he can’t, then he won’t shrink down and be devoured in defeat; he’ll ask for help. From his mum and his husband and his therapist, because that’s what he needs to do not only to prove to Louis that he’s in the right mindset for more kids, but for himself and for his family. 

Anne moves out in a week. Most of her things are already packed. And when Harry finds himself getting upset over it, he reminds himself of how happy Madison was when Anne promised to bring her souvenirs from Spain. 

“And send me pictures of the art museums,” she asked. Her paintings have slowly moved from the fridge to being properly hung up around the house, and she’s bloody _eight_. They aren’t jaw-dropping incredible just yet, maybe, but they’re pretty fucking good. Harry is thrilled to see where she takes that talent, and where that talent takes her. 

“I have always been under my mum’s wing,” Harry says with a nervous shrug. “But, like. I think it’s time, you know? It’s just holding us both back at this point, I think.”

“That’s good, Haz, really. Might do you good, having a few more things to do around here. Keeping busy always helps.”

“I’m still volunteering and stuff,” Harry tells him. He has been, but not nearly as much as he used to. At least twice a month, Harry goes out and does something for someone else. He’s taken a liking to volunteering at pet places, although he hasn’t been able to do that again since the last time he went and met a dalmatian puppy named Jack. It was a stupid coincidence, but it stung terribly anyway. 

“And, like. Me and Louis have started trying to go on more dates.” 

Sort of. They’ve been aiming to go out somewhere together, just the two of them, about once a month. It’s been going on for a year, and they’ve already missed a few months, but still. It’s something they’re trying to work on. Harry doesn’t know why having a nice day with his husband is so difficult to plan, but it remains that way. When they do go out, though, it’s always somewhere fancy so they can get all dressed up and hear Madison complain that she can’t come with. 

Madison has remained a good girl throughout the years. She hasn’t become jaded in her grief at all. She’s still their bright, happy little girl -- the only difference now is that she’s growing up too fast, faster than her peers it seems, and she’s got her hands tight around the idea of independence. Harry hates it and doesn’t relate to it at all, but Louis swears up and down that he was like that at her age, too, and it’s not a big deal. Dr. Patricia is the only one who will properly acknowledge Harry’s fear that she had to grow up too fast because of Jack’s illness and eventual death. She’s happy, though. Genuinely happy. Harry tries not to let the fact that she’s maybe a little too eager to reach her adulthood worry him too much. 

Liam smiles, and Harry tries to return it. 

“I can’t even imagine losing one of my boys,” Liam says with a wince, like he can’t help himself even though he knows that’s a shit thing to say to Harry. People do it all the time; this reality is everybody’s worst fear. Nobody knows how to handle being so up close to it. Liam sighs and shakes his head. “Sorry. Stupid thing to say.”

“It’s fine. Everybody says it.”

Even after all these years, Jack’s absence is acknowledged and winced at and apologized for by nearly everyone who is close to them and nearly every time he sees them. It’s just part of his life now. It’d be a lot worse if everyone completely ignored Jack, wouldn’t it. He’s not a secret, or something. Harry doesn’t mind talking about him, even if it hurts. He just wishes people would be more interested to talk about his life rather than his death. 

The dogs bark outside, and Harry stands to let them in. Hallie and Snoopy have a terrible habit of barreling their way inside once the door is open, so Harry stands out of the way like he always does as they come running inside. Cooper walks calmly in after them, and Harry bends down to pet him. He’s felt bad for him ever since Hallie and Cooper reached their full-size and he’s become the smallest of the bunch. 

“Holy shit, I swear they’ve gotten bigger since I saw them, like, two months ago,” Liam says with a surprised laugh. Harry turns to see Hallie front paws on Liam’s legs as she gets loved up by him. 

“Vet said Snoopy’s still got some growing to do, too,” Harry says as he pats Snoopy’s head. She’s mellowed out slightly since she was a puppy. _Slightly._ Really, the only thing she’s changed is that she doesn’t bite on things anymore. That’s all Harry could have asked for, honestly. 

“Louis couldn’t have impulsively bought some chihuahuas or something?” Liam asks, laughing still. And then he pulls away from Hallie to see how much drool she’s gotten on his shirt, and he groans. 

Harry grins. “Chihuahuas might’ve been better.”

As he grabs Liam a napkin, his eyes fall to his kids’ handprints hanging on the wall, and a sense of pride fills his heart.

-

Anne moves out on a Tuesday afternoon, and it’s not a small occasion. 

Initially, it was only supposed to be Gemma who came over to help. And then Scott got added to the mix, and then they showed up with their three kids. It’s fine -- Harry doesn’t see his niece and nephews nearly enough, which is proven by how big they’ve gotten right under his nose -- but he’s not all too surprised that the afternoon ends with Gemma, Anne and the kids sitting outside with the dogs and Harry, Louis and Scott finishing packing the car. 

Scott’s such a kiss-up, and the only time he doesn’t mind it is when it’s Louis that he’s kissing-up to. Harry’s smiling nearly the entire time as he listens to Louis and Scott talk about work and kids and school and spouses. Harry works quietly, and the only time he really contributes to the conversation is when Scott makes a lame joke that Louis made the right move in marrying a man over a woman. They _both_ earn a wad of bubble wrap to the head when Louis laughs and says, “I think you ended up with the one who’s least high-maintenance between the two of them, mate.”

Once his mum’s car is all packed, Harry finds himself abruptly getting teary-eyed and weak-kneed. He absolutely does not show it in front of Scott because he’d be so fucking awkward about it, but when Scott heads out back to tell everyone they’re done, he pulls Louis into his arms and sniffles quietly. 

“She’s going to love Spain, baby,” Louis whispers to him, rubbing his back. “And she’ll call you every day, and she’ll visit when she can. You _know_ she won’t leave you be. In a few months, you’ll be complaining about her being up your arse.”

Harry lets out a wet laugh. “I know I will be. Still sucks, though. I’m so sick of being sad.”

“You’re going to be sad for a little while,” Louis tells him. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, though, okay?”

“I’ll try not to.”

Harry pulls away from the hug when Gemma, Anne and Madison come out to the front yard, but he keeps a firm arm around Louis’ waist. Madison comes over to them, and Harry pulls her closer, too, an arm around her shoulders. 

After all this time, the feeling that they’re missing someone hasn’t gone away. It never will, he’s pretty sure. If Harry stopped feeling that ache, it’d mean he stopped missing Jack, and that will never happen, will it, so he tries to take that pain in stride. 

When Anne hugs him goodbye, it suddenly gets very real and it’s harder to choke back the tears. She has helped them so much. _So_ much. She filled the gaps for the kids that Harry couldn’t reach, and she was there for Louis when Harry wasn’t, and she took care of the dogs when Harry just couldn’t. And that support won’t stop here, he knows that. It’ll take on different forms, and he won’t be alone, but _fuck_. It feels horrible as he watches Madison hug her goodbye, but Madison has it in her not to cry, so Harry tries to find the same strength. 

Once she drives off, Harry very nearly drops to his knees and just fucking _loses_ it, but Louis’ arm stays steady and supportive around his shoulder. “Madison, love, can you go help Auntie Gem watch your cousins?”

Madison pouts at Louis, and Harry shakes his head at her. 

“Here, bee, take my phone,” Harry says with a sigh. He hands it to her, and she grins. “Don’t ignore your cousins, though, alright? Entertain them somehow.”

“I will, Daddy, promise.”

She stands on her toes and he leans down so she can kiss his cheek, and then she’s off skipping to the back yard. Thankfully, they hear her call for Charlie and Morgan, so she kept her end of the deal.

“Come on,” Louis says softly, tugging him towards the front door. Harry doesn’t know where they’re going, but he trusts that Louis knows what he’s doing and lets himself be tugged along. 

When Louis guides him to his mum’s room -- his mum’s old _room_ , shit -- Harry’s urge to cry just gets worse. Her room is now just a room, all the things that made it _hers_ gone. He doesn’t understand what Louis’ getting at until Louis wraps his arms around his waist, sets his head on his shoulder, and says, “I think we should let Madison decide if she wants her room to be down here, or stay put where she is. I don’t want her feeling pushed aside when the other kids come along.”

Harry’s face crumples, tears now coming for a completely different reason. He sets his chin on Louis’ head and tries not to break down. 

“Since your mum’s gone, we’ll have enough space so that everyone can have their own room still,” Louis continues. “The two younger kids could stay downstairs together, or Madison could take one room and one of them could have the upstairs. . . If Madison wants her room downstairs, maybe we could save the room next to ours for the baby.”

God, this all hurts. _Jack, Jack, Jack_ is a constant loop in his head, and in harmony with it is Harry’s desire to have a big family and siblings for Madison and more duties as a dad. He’s so fucking relieved that Madison was up to the idea of more siblings, that she didn’t cry or get mad or anything. It would have been okay if she did -- this is a decision they had to make as a family -- but Harry’s so fucking relieved that she didn’t. 

The new kids won’t know Jack, though. No amount of story-telling or pictures will ever allow them to really get to _know_ him. Harry, Louis and Madison will still do everything in their power to keep Jack as a key member of this family. He deserves that much. 

“Our family keeps changing,” Harry croaks out. “I hate it so fucking much.”

“I know,” Louis says, voice soft and steady. “But Anne leaving is an empty space we can fill, yeah? She’s still here.”

Louis turns to face him, and he kisses Harry briefly before grabbing the pendant hanging from his neck. “And so is Jack, right? In some ways.” Harry watches his fingers slide over the side with the polar bear. “In all the ways.”

Harry nods firmly, trying to remind himself of that. “In every way he can be.”

They leave the room a few minutes later, and Harry still has that loop of _Jack, Jack, Jack_ going on in the back of his head. When he plays with the dogs in the yard: _Jack, Jack, Jack._ When he sits at the kitchen table with Madison after everyone’s gone home, and they paint together: _Jack, Jack, Jack._ When Harry falls asleep that night with his husband close in his arms, his last thoughts are _Jack, Jack, Jack_. In every bit of the day, he’s there. 

When he wakes up the following morning with tear-swollen eyes and exhaustion weighing him down, one of the only things that gets him out of bed is the soft mantra of _Jack, Jack, Jack._

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it! i hope you liked it!
> 
> im going to bed right now lol but pls leave some comments i can read when i wake up! or talk to me on tumblr and twitter (both bravestylesao3)


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